Discretion
by MayaTheGreatish
Summary: Mr. Schuester is sick to death of the Glee club baring all their secrets and ripping apart each other's relationships in song. Kurt decides to use the anonymity of his assignment to reach out to the one person he feels needs him. Spoilers through Never Been Kissed, then we throw canon out completely.
1. Chapter 1

**So! Here I am, leaping into another fandom like the dumbass I am. I actually like this story, and have most of it written, as I'm on a Glee kick right now. This addresses the main issue I have with Glee: everyone is always super-obvious about who they're singing to, no matter how private the relationship/secret/etc. is. Who does that? So, yeah, this is Mr. Schue trying (as usual) to reign his students in. Warning: POV-switching and ignoring of canon, plus a surprise celebrity guest! I own nothing, stop rubbing it in. Love and hugs- Maya.**

* * *

"_Discretion._" That was the word Will Schuester wrote and underlined on the whiteboard, complete with the most decisive period ever, before turning to face the New Directions with his hands on his hips and his foot tapping irritably, like they'd left the toilet seat up one too many times. "Anyone in here know what that means?" he asked through annoyance-thinned lips.

His students looked at each other. "No," Brittany answered in that soft, honest way of hers, prompting Santana to pat her knee comfortingly. Rachel snorted, launching her hand primly into the air.

"It means," Schue went on, Rachel's hand falling with a pout, "not airing your every piece of dirty laundry for all the world to see." All he received was blank looks. "You all seem to have a habit of sing-speaking to each other in your performances." He stared at Rachel, and she scowled self-righteously back. "You're all very explicit about your feelings for each other, and that's fine for a private setting, but not a public place in and in front of a group as explosively volatile as this."

"But, Mr. Schue," Mercedes cut in, "we're just expressing through music what we can't bring ourselves to in words."

The teacher smiled indulgently at her. "I know, and I'm thrilled that you all feel safe and open enough here and with each other to do that, but it keeps causing problems. A relationship will be damaged, or a secret spilled, and you'll refuse to work together for a time. And that is time we don't have."

"Pot, kettle, Mr. Schue," Santana said, not looking up from her nails.

"Yes, I know," he agreed tiredly, "and look where it got me." The room got quiet, and he went on. "Look, the point is you all lack discretion, and it rips you apart on a weekly basis. Your assignment is to choose a song—nothing explicit, mind you, keep it PG-13—and dedicate it to someone, anyone, in your head. Don't tell anyone, and _please_ don't stare at anyone during your performance."

"Sing to anyone?" Kurt asked softly. "No one has to know who?"

From the back of the room, Puck snorted. "Come off it, Princess; we all know you're singing to Finn." Finn had the grace to look embarrassed, if slightly gassy.

"No, actually," Kurt said. "Finn doesn't need the song I'm singing." Everyone looked at him, but he was too busy staring pensively at his expensive shoes to notice.

* * *

As we all know, Puck was a badass. He had the 'hawk, the leather jacket, and the guns to prove it. It was rarely unsatisfying when the crowds parted for him, their fear and admiration seeping into his skin, fueling him, but apparently today was one of those days. As the after-school herd made way for him, his head was too full of Hummel's sad face to notice the fairy had seemed off for a few days, and even Aretha didn't seem to know why.

A loud clang jerked him from his thoughts, lifting his head so he could see that the crowds had mostly dispersed and escaped homeward. Ahead of him, in the empty space, Karofsky had Hummel against the lockers by the front of his no-doubt-designer shirt. Contrary to his usual "I'm-clearly-better-than-you" attitude that he amped up in the face of adversity, Hummel just looked sad and resigned, pitying even. Puck drew nearer, not even sure what he was going to do when he reached them. Rescue Hummel, he supposed, but he'd never done that before. He wasn't really the hero type; that was Finn's job.

"You need to stop rubbing your fagginess in everyone's face, homo," Karofsky was snarling.

Hummel's eyes fell tiredly closed. "You're such a coward, David." Puck only just caught the murmur.

Karofsky's eyes widened. Was that fear in there? It was, Puck knew fear anywhere, but why? "And when the hell did I say you could call me that?" Karofsky demanded furiously.

Hummel met his eyes, something unreadable in his own and in the set of his jaw. "When do you think?" Karofsky's eyes went even wider with definite and obvious fear. His fist left Hummel's shirt to draw back for a punch and Hummel just kept staring into his eyes, into his soul.

With no choice but to step in, Puck took the remaining half-step forward and wrapped his hand harshly around Karofsky's fist. When the bully looked at him, the fear was still there, but it was different, diminished, as if he were less afraid of a badass like Puck than a shrimp of a fairy like Hummel. Well, that made no sense. "There a problem?" Puck clearly indicated with his tone that the answer would be "no," or else.

Karofsky wrenched away from both of them, his motions as violent as ever. "Whatever! Just 'cause you're both faggy for each other, you think you're fucking safe?" Hummel just closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, as if deeply disappointed. "Fuck you!" Karofsky cried. With that, he kicked a dent into an innocent locker and all but ran away.

Hummel sagged against the lockers, a massive sigh passing his lips. Puck stuck his hands deep into his pockets and watched him, waiting. At length, Hummel said quietly, like he was out of breath, "I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"Yeah."

Hummel sighed again. "Well, I'm sorry, but you can't have one." He pushed himself off the unforgiving metal and straightened his clothes and hair.

"Why didn't you fight?" Puck demanded gently. "You always fight, at least with words."

Gazing down at the dirty hallway floor, Hummel adjusted the strap of his messenger bag across his chest. "I have my reasons."

"Yeah? What're they?"

Hummel met his eyes for the first time then. They were the strangest color: dark, and couldn't seem to decide whether they were blue or green. "Thanks for your help just now," he said, the barest touch of ice in his voice, "and for your concern, but I'd like to know the motivation for both."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "Nice thank-you."

"You know what I mean."

Digging his hands deeper into his pockets, Puck leaned closer to the other boy. "Can't I show concern for a fellow gleek?"

Hummel scowled faintly at him. "You haven't before. Even since you joined Glee, we've never been close; we're civil at best. And before that you were the opposite of civil. So you'll have to forgive my suspicion."

With an exasperated eye-roll, Puck said, "Look, you've been acting weird, all quiet and shifty, and everyone's worried. And after seeing you and Karofsky, I'm pretty damn curious myself."

A guarded, disgusted look crossed Hummel's face. "Curiosity, huh."

Puck elected to ignore that strange reaction. "And now I see it has something to do with that dick Karofsky."

Hummel sighed. "Why do you care, Puckerman?" he asked tiredly.

Why, indeed. Puck thought as carefully and quickly as he could manage. "I got slushied. I get called 'homo,' too." At Hummel's startled look, he exhaled and tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, you're not alone in getting harassed. And I kinda know how it feels now. So, since we're teammates, I don't want you feeling that."

Hummel gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter, his eyes not leaving Puck's, before he spun on his heel and headed for the exit. The motion had a strange lack of finality or dismissal, and Puck found himself following the shorter boy, easily catching up on his longer legs to walk alongside him.

Hummel stared straight ahead as they walked, only acknowledging Puck's presence by keeping pace with him. Puck allowed the silence to follow them through the empty hallways to the door. The overhang dripped steadily in the heavy rain, and Hummel stopped and considered the bleakness, Puck beside him with his hands still buried in his pockets. Still not looking at him, Hummel asked quietly, "Do you need a ride?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Two chapters. One day. One author, feeling like a badass. So, this chapter is short, but I had to cut it off here. The next one will be longer, I promise. Uh, review! Or something. I own nothing, despite my best efforts. Love- Maya**

* * *

_Hummel asked quietly, "Do you need a ride?"_

Puck looked at him. "Yeah. You offering?"

Hummel dug around in his bag and produced an umbrella. "Only as a thank-you, since my previous attempt was sub-par."

"Whatever you want." As the taller of the two, Puck took the umbrella and held it over both of their heads, leading them out into the cloud-dark parking lot. The tension in Hummel's posture couldn't be more obvious; his every step was all but on tiptoe, his grip on the strap of his bag turned his knuckles white, his wide eyes shifted constantly. A faint smirk on his face, Puck walked him to the driver's side of that fancy Navigator, then hopped into the passenger seat himself.

Elbows locked, Hummel gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead of him. "You'll have to give me directions," he said, starting up.

"Cool. Head towards Heights Adjacent."

Hummel just nodded and took a left. They rode in silence for awhile, Puck staring at the other boy's tense profile. Finally, Hummel caved and sighed, "I really can't tell you about Karofsky."

So he's talking. "Why not?"

"It's not my problem to spill."

"Sure as hell looked like your problem in the hallway."

Hummel set his jaw, his voice resigned and determined at the same time. "It only bleeds over. I really can't tell you; it's his secret, and it's not my place to share it."

Puck nodded slowly. "I can respect that, but seeing how he literally _just_ treated you, I don't think you're obligated to keep his secrets."

"This one, I am."

"Is it that big of a deal, or are you just that damn nice?"

A grim smile stretched Hummel's lips. "The first one."

"Can you tell me anything?"

Hummel looked at him now, his eyes guarded and uncomfortable. "Why are you so concerned about me, Puckerman? It's nice, I suppose, but… sudden." His gaze returned to the road.

"Because." Even as he said it, Puck knew that wouldn't cut it, he didn't need Hummel's eye-roll to tell him that. "Because I'm tired of—of being a _dick_. It takes effort, man, and it cost me Quinn and Beth." He was surprising himself with his own honesty.

They were about halfway to Puck's house, but Hummel pulled over on the empty, wet road, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. "I see," he said quietly, and Puck had the unsettling feeling that he _did_ see. This… talk, or whatever, seemed to be getting to him, so on he ploughed, going with this honesty thing that seemed to be working so well.

"And now that I know what it feels like form the receiving end, not only do I not want to be that guy giving shit, but I don't want anyone else getting it either, especially not one of my teammates." At this point, he was just saying whatever non-offensive thing pooped into his head and prayed for coherence.

Hummel was biting his lower lip now, his knuckles white again. "Why today?"

Puck shrugged; he knew the answer to that one. "I saw him attacking you. Couldn't just sit on my ass, let it happen right in front of me."

Hummel released the wheel and leaned back into his seat, dropping his hands to his sides. "Is that right."

"You were weird about the assignment today, too," Puck went on. "Couldn't get your tone out of my head, you sounded so wrong." Hummel bit his lip again. "You've been off for days, to the point that even I noticed. Karofsky after the way you were in Glee today was the boiling point, I guess."

Hummel sighed and turned to face him. It took effort for Puck not to flinch at the inexplicably intense eye contact. "Do you want this to be a regular thing?" Hummel asked. "You playing knight-in-shining-armor? Because it'll be short-lived."

Puck blinked. "Why?"

Hummel's lips thinned, and he faced forward, disengaging the parking brake and resituating for driving. "A few reasons."

"Yeah? What're they?"

He just pulled away from the side of the road. "Don't worry about it," he murmured.

Puck frowned at him, but he didn't push further. Under Puck's guidance, they soon pulled up to the Puckerman house. Silent, Hummel put his baby into park and waited. In the quiet, Puck had been scheming, and it was time to put his plan into action. "Hummel." The boy didn't react, but somehow Puck knew he was listening. "Pick me up for school tomorrow."

_That_ got his attention. Hummel turned 90 degrees in his seat to stare at Puck, his big, weirdly-colored eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"My truck's in the shop, and I hate the bus."

Hummel flapped his hand in a way that was probably meant to be dismissive, but turned out confused. "I fail to see how that is my problem."

"C'mon, Hummel; I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Hummel's brows shot up doubtfully. "Really."

Puck sighed at him. "Hummel, if you don't agree, I _will_ turn on the charm."

The other boy looked positively aghast now. "You would not."

With a devilish grin, Puck leaned toward him. "Trust me, you'll only be upset after."

"After…?" Hummel shook his head quickly, as if to rid himself of the thought, before casting Puck a withering glare. "Fine, Puckerman, if only to avoid your attempt at seducing me." He wrinkled his upturned little nose. "That's rather high on my 'ew' list."

Puck snorted and opened the passenger door. "Please. Puckzilla is on nobody's 'ew' list." With that, he bolted into the rain to his door, wondering how true that assertion was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Whew! I am just on a roll! This whole updating-a-buttload-of-things thing is in no way normal for me, so don't get used to it. I'm usually inexcusably slow. So, yeah. I don't own, review or else, yadda yadda, meow. Love- Maya**

* * *

Kurt chewed anxiously at his lip as he pulled up to the Puckerman house the next morning. The punk had been so weird yesterday, he couldn't even begin. Saving him, talking to him, following him around; all weird. He shook his head. Whatever, Puck's weirdness was none of his business. One more ride, then he was home-free.

He took out his phone. He had Puck's number—all the gleeks had each other's numbers—but he had to go hunting for it in his contacts, as he and Puck hardly spent hours a day gabbing on the phone. When, at length, he found the number, he shot off a text to alert the weirdo of his presence, then started prepping for his project.

* * *

Puck climbed out of his shower to his phone buzzing on the sink with a new message. It was from Hummel: _I'm outside. If you're not out in 10, I'm leaving._

"Shit," Puck muttered. Damn Hummel and his perfect grammar; it would help absolutely no one if Hummel managed to escape before he could enact his master plan. He made the quickest work he could of drying himself off, throwing on clean-enough jeans and a fresh t-shirt. Choosing his leather jacket over his letterman, he shoved his phone into his pocket and scampered down the stairs.

His mother watched him race past from the kitchen, snatching up his bag as he went, with tired eyes. "What's your rush, Noah?"

He slowed to answer, but didn't stop. "My ride's waiting."

Ruth's eyebrows rose, and she lifted her mug to her lips. "That better not be a double-entendre."

"I don't know what that means!" he all but sing-songed over his shoulder, wrenching the door open and barreling through. His mother rolled her eyes, but he didn't see through the shut door.

Puck jogged down the walk, Hummel's shiny black Navigator waiting at the end of it. As he drew nearer, he saw that Hummel had earbuds in his ears, his lips moving in song. Puck slowed to listen; Hummel was singing softly, but Puck could hear through the car door:

_"Scars make us who we are._

_ "Hearts and homes are broken, broken—"_

Hummel broke off with an irritated noise. "No, no," he muttered. "Still too damn high." He started scrolling through his iPod, his brow furrowed. Puck tapped on the window, and Hummel jumped a mile. He blinked at Puck for a few seconds, then popped the locks and in he hopped.

"Heard you singing," Puck commented.

"You've heard me singing before," Hummel retorted, removing his earbuds and pulling away from the curb. "Nothing new."

"New song. 'S it for Glee?"

"Nope." Hummel volunteered no further information.

_Fine; I push, you pull._ "What's it for?"

"Personal project."

Puck cocked a suggestive eyebrow. "You serenading somebody?"

Hummel sorted, giving Puck all the answer he needed. "Who would I possibly? And even if I were, I wouldn't tell you."

"Not even Finn?" Puck mock-gasped.

A short, true laugh escaped Hummel, making Puck grin. "Ew, no!"

"You suuuuure?"

"Yes!" Hummel reached over and swatted him on the arm, like they were friends—the boy didn't even seem to realize he'd done it—and Puck found he didn't mind. "That was a textbook, schoolgirl crush on the quarterback; it doesn't even bear mention."

"You liked him 'cause he was the quarterback?"

"Don't put words in my mouth." His tone remained genuinely light. "I liked him because, despite being the cute, popular quarterback, he was goofy and nice to me."

"He's an idiot."

"I knew that, but I thought it was cute at the time. Like a lost puppy."

Puck crossed his arms and leaned back petulantly into his seat. "A really dumb puppy that shits on everything and rips up the furniture."

Hummel laughed, and this time he didn't even seem to fight it. "Well-put, Puckerman." Puck smirked. "But I woke up and saw the mess, so Finn's exclusively my brother now." He blinked, as if surprised, before throwing Puck a sheepish glance. "Not that it's your business."

Puck laughed at the belated salvage attempt. "Bit late for that, but fine. Subject change."

"Yes, good." Hummel relaxed, slightly but noticeably.

"How I'm making this ride worth your while."

A skeptical smirk curved Hummel's lips. "Do tell."

"I'm gonna get the bullies off your ass."

Hummel's face slackened in surprise as he tried to pick one of the many questions that had surely popped into his head. "Why on earth would you do that?" he finally asked.

Puck shrugged, like it was no big deal. "It bugged me yesterday, not only seeing you getting harassed right in front of me, but how much it bothers you, even though you try to hide it."

Hummel was staring extra-hard at the road, his knuckles white again. A hint of color rose from beneath the collar of his shirt, up his neck to his face and ears. "Why would any of that bother you?"

Another shrug from Puck. "Dunno, but it does, and I hate being bothered. So, I'll put a stop to it."

"You're so selfish." There was a faint smile on Hummel's face, though, so Puck elected not to get offended. "I don't think you'll be able to stop it though."

Puck furrowed his brow and sat up, now getting offended. "What do you mean, I can't?"

Hummel sighed, turning into the school parking lot. "You won't be able to stop all of them, at least. Some of them have… different reasons for… what they do."

"And those are?"

"No one's business, is what they are, not even mine."

Puck was quiet while the other boy parked. He just sat and stared until Hummel pulled the key from the ignition. "Let me try, then," he finally said.

On an exhausted sigh, Hummel's eyes fell closed, then reopened to lock with Puck's. Puck felt the inexplicable urge to hold his breath as Hummel searched his gaze (for what, he didn't know), and he wondered why he needed Hummel to accept his help so badly.

At length, Hummel released him from his stare, and Puck exhaled. "Fine," Hummel said resignedly. "What do you have in mind?"

* * *

**Song is Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert. I own neither the song nor Adam Lambert, and I cry every day over the latter.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Gahh. This chapter's weird; POV switching goes down. I don't know, but it's here. I wanted to update quickly, since I got such great response for this fic. I love all of you! I don't own, review, murmur murmur, peas and carrots. Love and snuggles- Maya**

* * *

_"Fine. What do you have in mind?"_

Puck grinned at him, and Kurt was suddenly very nervous. "Well, you know how I'm a badass, right?"

"I'm assuming the answer you're looking for is 'yes, of course.'"

He just smirked at him. Damn punk. "Out you get," he said, making shooing motions with his hands before following his own advice. Kurt blinked at the empty passenger seat in confusion before complying, getting his things out of the back seat.

No sooner had he alighted of the blacktop than a muscular, leather-clad arm found its way around his shoulders. "What the fuck?" he yelped, jumping a mile.

Right next to his ear, like not six inches away, Puck chuckled. "Ooh, was that a swear? Relax, Princess."

"You are in my bubble, Puckerman," Kurt bit out.

"That's the point. Walk." He set off, dragging Kurt with him toward the building. "Maybe I should carry your bag, too, or would that be too much?"

"What in the name of Armani are you doing?" Kurt demanded, squirming in Puck's grasp.

"Escorting you to your locker, dumbass, what's it look like?"

"Puckerman." Kurt paused in his struggle to glare flatly up at Puck. "I have no idea what this looks like." He looked around to notice the stares they were getting as the crowd thickened nearer to the school, and he fought Puck's hold with renewed vigor. "Actually, yes I do. Got off me! People are staring."

Contrarily, Puck dragged him closer. "Again, Porcelain, that's the point. I want this whole godforsaken school to know that you're the bro of the resident badass."

Kurt surrendered, but pouted mightily. "They're not thinking we're 'bros.'" At Puck's raised brow, Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh come on, you know what people think, and will think." The other brow rose. "Don't you know homosexuality is contagious?" Kurt asked dryly. "They'll think I infected you or some such nonsense."

Puck snorted a laugh. "What happened to Born This Way, Princess?"

"When it comes to public image, we enlightened ones must consider the ignorant masses."

Puck grinned forebodingly at the startled hallway herds. "I'm not sure what that means, nor do I actually care."

Kurt sighed as they neared his locker. "What about your reputation?"

Releasing the boy so he could get into his locker, Puck leaned back against the metal, ankles crossed and hands in his pockets. "I'm a badass, I'll be fine. It's about time I used my badassness for good."

With a sideways glance through his lashes, Kurt considered his former tormentor. His position against the lockers was no different from usual, and his clothes were the same (ew) as ever. Somehow, despite being exactly the same, he seemed more comfortable, like he wasn't making some effort anymore. He didn't look tensed for a fight like he always did, and his lips were a quirk away from a smile rather than a tooth-bearing snarl.

Pursing his lips in apprehensive confusion, Kurt fished his books out of his locker and slammed it shut. Before the noise could finish sounding in his ears, Puck's arm was casually looped around him again and he was being led to his first class. All Kurt could do was thank Gaga no one from Glee or the football team had seen them, but word traveled fast and he knew that Rachel, Mercedes, and possibly Santana would be up his ass by lunch. "So, Puck."

"Mm."

"What, exactly, is your plan?"

The taller boy grinned down at him. "I'm going to make it clear to this whole school that you're my boy and, as my boy, under my protection. Anyone fucks with you, fucks with me, and in case you weren't aware, I'm a badass. No one wants to mess with that." Kurt just stared up at him. "What, I am a badass," Puck insisted. "I mean, have you seen my guns? Jeez, you and Berry…"

"Puckerman," Kurt deadpanned. "Everyone at school has seen your guns."

"So why must you question my badassness? Divas…"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "So we're pretending to be friends for my protection so you don't have to feel bad about people harassing me."

Puck shrugged. "Basically." His grip on Kurt tightened slightly. "Only we're not pretending."

Kurt blinked up at him. "Pardon?"

"After yesterday and this morning, Hummel, I actually kinda like you. You're pretty chill. And you seem cool with me too, given how much fun you had making fun of Finn with me this morning." At this point, Kurt was fairly confident that his jaw was totally slack, but on Puck went. "I think once we agreed that Finn was a dumb, messy puppy, we were friends."

Praying desperately to any designers he could think of that he wasn't blushing, Kurt ducked his head and mumbled, "Fine."

* * *

Puck noticed the flush; it was impossible not to, given their closeness and Hummel's fair skin. If Finn was a puppy, Hummel was a kitten: fanged, clawed, and icily indifferent one moment, and cuddly and staring up at you with huge eyes the next. It was a wonder the two got along as brothers.

At the door to Hummel's class, Puck released him from his hold. Hummel looked up at him with those ridiculously-colored eyes—they were bluer today—and it almost hurt to see the wariness still in their depths. Taking matters into his own hands, Puck leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I'm totally serious. I'll protect you." With a smirk at Hummel's gobsmacked expression, he turned on his heel and sauntered off toward the boys' locker room; he needed to lift, work on his guns, you know.

* * *

Ignoring the stares that he could feel anyway, Kurt wandered dazedly to his seat and plopped down gracefully, resting his chin on his hand and gazing unseeingly at the chalkboard. Puck had to be the weirdest person ever, or the dumbest. Whispering in the resident Gay Kid's ear in front of everyone after hanging all over him? Tongues would wag. What if people thought Kurt had converted him or some such bigotry? He sighed heavily.

Just as the bell rang, Mercedes burst into the room and threw herself into the seat beside Kurt's. She then thoroughly ignored their mouse of a teacher to demand, "What's all this I'm hearing about you and The 'Hawk?" At least she had the grace to whisper.

Kurt sighed. "Honey, it's news to me, too." At her pointed look, he continued on another sigh, "I don't know; Puck got worried about my bullying problem and somehow got it into his head that the best protection he could offer me was friendship with PDA."

Mercedes blinked at him. "Okay, I think we need to back up a step or seven. He got 'worried'?" Kurt just shrugged helplessly. "Then he decided to help you?" Another shrug, more exaggerated this time. "And this is how he figured he'd go about it." Kurt groaned softly and laid his head on his desk. Mercedes sat back a little. "White people," was all she said. Kurt had no choice but to laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

**You guys! With your reviewing and your following and your favoriting! I love all of you! *ahem* So this chapter's important. As you may or may not be able to tell, I am not a Finn fan, so watch out if you love him or whatever. I'm keeping secrets in this chapter, and alluding to things, and I'm just trying to keep it all straight. So. I own nothing, review... I don't even get why people say these things, it's, like, a given on this site. Love- Maya**

* * *

The locker room doors slammed open, and Puck looked up to see Finn, breathing heavily and looking confused. Puck lifted a bro, not setting down his weight. "'Sup, bro?"

"Don't you 'bro' me!" Finn snarled, before blinking and going on, "And-and do you 'sup' me either!"

With a sigh, Puck set down the barbell and got to his feet, wiping his hands on his basketball shorts. "Problem?"

"Dude, what are you doing with Kurt?" Finn demanded. "That's my brother, man, you can't mess with him!"

"Who says I'm messing with him?"

"You came in here fucking snuggling him!" he burst out, like it was some big reveal. "That's right, I heard."

Puck sighed and turned to replace his weight on the rack. "That was the point. I want people to hear."

Finn shook his head in confusion at him. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking, Frankenteen, about using my badassness to protect your little brother, who's older than you anyway." He looked over his shoulder at his former best friend, who stared back in obvious puzzlement. Puck rolled his eyes and eleaborated, "If people think he's tight with some hardcore juvie survivor, no one'll mess with him."

"He's older than me?" Puck just looked at him. "And anyway," Finn went on, apparently back on-topic, "why would you do that?"

Puck considered his answer. "Atonement."

"Toes?"

"_Finn._ Atonement is making up for something you've done wrong."

"Oh." Puck waited for it. "What?" There we go.

Leaning against the weight rack, he crossed his arms and ankles. "I was really horrible to him back in the day. I'm trying to make up for it now." Pinning Finn with the most judging look he could manage, he continued, "What I don't get is why you haven't tried this already. He's your stepbrother."

Scratching at the back of his neck and examining the disgusting locker room floor, Finn defended, "'Cause, man… hanging all over Kurt like that is, like… weird. You know he used to have a crush on me?"

Puck snorted. "He's been over that; we laughed about it in his car this morning."

"O-oh… well, he used to, and that makes it weird."

"Look, whatever helps you sleep at night, man. If you don't want to protect him, I will because I do."

Finn's head shot up, eyes full of fire. "Of course I want to protect him!"

"Yeah, just not in public." Finn went quiet, looking down again, and there was a moment of silence until the bell rang. Puck sighed, turning away and going to his locker for his jeans and a fresh shirt. "What's he got next?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "I'll pick him up and walk him there."

Without looking up from the floor, Finn surprised them both. "He's got a free period. 'S probably in the auditorium."

Puck glanced briefly over his shoulder with some approval. "Thanks, man." With a nod Puck didn't see, Finn left.

Once he had changed, Puck wandered through the halls to the auditorium. He shut the door silently behind himself out of habit and made his way down the shallow audience steps. Onstage and off to the side, Hummel sat at the piano, staring down at the keys and not seeing Puck. The jock began to call out, but Hummel tapped out three notes. He did it a few more times, his expression unreadable, and then he began to sing softly:

"_Strip away the flesh and bone._

"_Look beyond the lies you've known._

"_Everybody wants to talk about a freak._

"_No one wants to dig that deep._

"_Let me take you underneath."_

Silent, Puck leaned his hip against an aisle seat and let Hummel take him "underneath." His brow rose when Hummel sang _"Such a beautiful release, you inside of me,"_ but he said nothing. Instead, he focused on the tears on Hummel's cheeks as he sang about the tears in his eyes and the stars in his black and blue skies.

"_Look at me, now do you see…?"_ His whole soul was bared in his face as he played those final notes, and he looked tired, like he needed someone.

Puck stepped forward, climbing the steps onto the stage. He hadn't realized that he had started moving toward the broken-sounding boy until he was right at the foot of those stairs, just out of Hummel's line of sight. As he approached, Hummel didn't look up; his shoulders were hunched as he stared at his hands in his lap, his back to Puck. "Hey."

Despite the softness of his voice, Hummel jumped a mile. He whipped his head around and met Puck's eyes with his red, teary ones before turning away again instantly. "Hey," he answered almost-hoarsely (Hummel could never be hoarse), producing a handkerchief and wiping at his eyes.

Puck moved to stand beside him. "Nice song."

"You heard?" He looked up into Puck's eyes, some of that vulnerability fading. Puck wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Went looking for you when class ended."

Hummel snorted. "Like you go to class."

Puck smiled; there he is. "Yeah, no, I had guns to work on."

"Of course." The red was leaving his eyes, too, leaving them greyer than earlier. His face was relaxed, clear of tear tracks.

"Scooch." Hummel obliged, and Puck sat next to him on the bench. Puck wasn't small (thankyouverymuch) so they ended up kind of squished. Hummel's body tensed against his side. "So, how's shit?"

"It's shit." Hummel grinned at him, and Puck had to grin back. "Mercedes interrogated me as soon as she got to class."

"How come?"

"Because of your hanging all over me in front of everyone, obviously," Hummel sniffed.

"Oh, that. Yeah, Frankenteen was pretty pissed."

"Finn?" Puck smirked at Hummel recognizing and acknowledging the nickname. "Why?"

"He thought I was messing with you. Figured he'd try to protect you from the big bad wolf, nice and private, until I explained to him that I was just doing what he didn't have the stones to."

"What?"

Puck met his eyes. "Protect you in public."

"Oh." Hummel looked down, and he looked so small that Puck had to throw an arm around his shoulders and squeeze. Hummel only jumped a little at the contact, so, bonus.

Anyway, subject change. "What was that song for? Glee?"

"Oh, no, it's for that project I told you about." He seemed to forget all about Finn and his misguided… well, everything, and Puck had to stifle a grin. "I had to practice singing in this register, since the song I'm using is by the same artist, and I've always liked this particular song."

"What kind of project is it?"

Hummel gazed up at the catwalk thoughtfully. "Uh… outreach, you could say."

Puck arched a brow at that. "You're atheist."

"Not all outreach is religious."

He nodded slowly. "You wanna explain a bit more?"

Their eyes met as Hummel considered him. He had this weird way of staring into people's eyes like he was trying to read your every intention, your very soul. It made Puck shiver, and he hoped Hummel wouldn't notice. Finally, Hummel said, "Thanks, but no thanks." His gaze cooled, and Puck exhaled, having forgotten to breathe. "I think if I told you, you'd want to help, and I have to do this on my own."

Stiffening, Puck tightened his hold on Hummel. "You confronting somebody?"

Chuckling sadly, he answered, "Not really, he probably won't even see it. This is just on the off chance."

Puck stared blankly down at him. "I don't get it."

With another chuckle, indulgent this time, Hummel patted his knee. "That's okay." He blinked and jerked his hand away as if burned, clearing his throat.

Cocking an eyebrow, Puck changed the subject again. "What about the Glee assignment?"

Hummel cast him a grateful look and nodded. "I have that in the bag, I'm not even worried."

"What're you singing?"

He started rummaging around in his bag, ostensibly for his iPod. "Florence and the Machine. Know them?"

Puck shrugged and let go so Hummel could search better. "Kinda."

Producing his iPod and earbuds, he found whatever song before handing it over to Puck, taking one earbud for himself. At first, Puck was simply impressed with this chick's lungs. As the song went on, though, he watched Hummel from the corner of his eye. The boy's expression got sadder and sadder as Puck watched him chew his lip. Somehow, mixed with all that sadness, there was a grim determination, and Puck wondered what it all was for.

* * *

**Song is Underneath by Adam Lambert. I don't own him or his music, now stop reminding me. Neither do I own Florence and the Machine. Or just Florence or just the Machine. I own nothing, okay? Jeez.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapters one of those weird ones where it takes me days to write it, but I've only managed to cover around ten minutes of the characters lives. Introspection, kids. So. I don't own, review, et cetera. Love and whatnot- Maya**

* * *

As he listened to the lyrics, heard their implications, Kurt sank deeper and deeper into dread of what he had planned for that night. Karofsky scared him, pure and simple, but he could also relate to him. His fear drove him to hurt Kurt, the person he considered to be the root of his problems. Kurt supposed he could understand that, but it broke his heart that someone felt the need to hurt others out of… what, envy? Lust, maybe? His eyes fell closed. Hell if he knew.

Karofsky's fear made sense to him. As one of Kurt's chief tormentors, even before he came out, Karofsky knew firsthand exactly what he'd be put through were he to come out himself. But Kurt watched him drive himself further and further into the closet, and he wondered what was so different between them that he could come out, but Karofsky couldn't. Perhaps it would be the surprise of it all; as far as anyone knew, David Karofsky was as straight as they came, unlike Kurt, who practically had "GAY" tattooed across his forehead. Despite all that he had put Kurt through, Kurt couldn't help but feel some kinship toward David, and feel his pain as he continually hurt himself by hurting Kurt. That doubled Kurt's pain, and he wished, not for the first time, that he was more callous and could just out the brute and leave him to the wolves.

He didn't notice that the song had ended until Puck nudged his shoulder with his own. "Hummel."

"Mm? Oh, it's over."

"Why are you crying?"

Kurt gasped, his hands flying to his face and feeling his damp cheeks. Damn, he was just all over the place today. He tugged the earbud from his ear and shot up from the piano bench, moving halfway across the stage to give Puck his back.

He heard Puck get up and move toward him. "Hummel," he repeated.

"It's nothing," Kurt assured him, fruitlessly and he knew it. "Just thinking of some things." What he would do that night.

"What things?" His voice was closer.

"Things; don't worry about it." Kurt wrapped his arms around himself and successfully willed the tears away, like he had so many times before.

"Stop telling me not to worry, that'll never work. Seriously, it has, like, the exact opposite effect." He drew nearer, until Kurt could feel the scant foot of distance between him. Somehow, he tensed further. "You don't hate it when I touch you, right?" Puck asked. "I mean, you're always kinda startled, but you don't hate it?"

"I guess not, not when I know it's coming." He took a shuddering breath, the kind that came from fighting sobs. "Why?"

"Because I think you need a hug." Kurt's eyes went wide as saucers when Puck put his large, rough hands on his shoulders and turned him so they faced each other. He searched Kurt's eyes, for refusal or permission, and apparently decided to gamble when he saw neither. He pulled Kurt into his chest, his muscular arms winding around Kurt's shoulders.

Kurt could feel himself going stiff as a board. Nothing like this ever happened. Other than girls, no one ever touched him, and even then it was just linking arms in the halls, leaning heads on shoulders in Glee, quick squeezes "hello" or "goodbye." Even his father didn't really touch him, except for the odd embrace or shoulder-squeeze when something monumental happened and/or he felt the need to reaffirm his love for his son. No one boy ever touched him; it simply wasn't done. Yet here Puck was, chest-to-chest with him, his arms tight around him. He drew breath to order Puck to vacate his me-space, but found the air catching in his throat. Puck's shoulders were wider than his, his chest broader, his legs longer, his arms bigger and stronger. Kurt was being engulfed, and he hated that he didn't mind.

* * *

Hummel wasn't tiny and soft or anything; he didn't feel like a girl, just a guy who was a bit smaller than Puck himself, which wasn't rare. Puck could feel the wiry muscles of Hummel's shoulders under his arms, the broadness of those shoulders, the hard flatness of Hummel's chest against his, the narrowness of the hips against his. He didn't smell like a girl, either; no flowers or fruitiness (ironically enough), just something spicy with an underlying sweetness and something else undeniably male. Despite all that was and wasn't there, Puck couldn't be put off by holding Hummel, and he didn't bother wondering why on account of that would be weird.

When the initial surprise wore off, Hummel began to squirm in his arms. "What are you doing?" His voice was soft and muffled, his mouth caught against Puck's shoulder as he'd had no time to ease into the embrace. Puck snorted internally; not that he would've anyway.

He patted Hummel's back. "When was the last time you had a proper hug?"

Hummel stilled, and it took him a few seconds to respond, even more quietly, "It's been some time."

Giving the boy's back a final pat, Puck drew back, holding him by his shoulders at arms' length while Hummel's large, bewildered eyes blinked up at him. "Well, not anymore!" he declared. "I mean, come on, even a douche like me gets hugged. You should, too."

Hummel blinked at him some more before nodding mindlessly. "Right…"

"I think I'm going to hug you every day from now on." Puck wouldn't have thought that Hummel's eyes could get any wider, but they did, and he grinned a little bit evilly. "Sometimes in public," he added, just for the reaction, even though he meant it.

Shaking his head frantically, Hummel said, "No, no, do not do that, that will not end at all well."

"Won't it?"

"It won't."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I keep seeing you hug yourself, so I figure I should take some of that burden." He wasn't quite sure how he meant that. "You know, as a friend."

Hummel's brow furrowed, a stern (if flustered) look on his face. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I'm not even sure what you just decided."

"At least once a day, I will be hugging you." Puck was rather pleased with the decisiveness of his tone. "Whenever, wherever I feel like you need it."

"Ridiculous," Hummel repeated, shrugging out from under his hands.

"Is it?"

"Are you high? Be honest, Noah Puckerman, or I will castrate you with a plastic spoon."

"Hugs are good for you," Puck insisted.

"You must be high."

"Am not! I haven't even had hash-brownies in, like, months."

"Then you've lost your mind." Hummel almost sounded serious. "You must know what would happen if you suddenly elected to hug me in the middle of the cafeteria. Hell, you've been behind a lot of what happens to me, over the years. Why would you start following me around and-" he gestured frantically between their chests. "-and whatever this is, and subject yourself to all that?

"Okay, first off: I'm a badass. I can take anything, and those assholes don't scare me. Second: I'm pretty sure I explained how tiring being a dick was and how I'm over that. C: I'm also pretty sure I apologized for all the shit I put you through."

"You didn't, actually," Hummel retorted, almost absently.

"What?"

Meeting his eyes, Hummel repeated, "You never apologized. And 'C' does not come after 'second,'" he added.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Hummel, why are we discussing the alphabet?" Hummel shrugged, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest and letting his eyes drift away into the dark gallery.

Rolling his eyes again in exasperation, Puck used two fingers to turn Hummel's face toward his. He withdrew his fingers quickly, but from those wide eyes, he could see he'd stunned the poor kid into silence. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry I did all those things to you. I'm sorry for doing that to anyone, actually, but you especially, since you're pretty badass. You didn't deserve any of that." He paused and considered. "I mean, Ben Israel deserved it, he's creepy, but you're not. So yeah." He grinned. "There."


	7. Chapter 7

**I really need to work on my pacing. This chapter's short (again) because if it doesn't end here, it's twice this size (again). I'm working on it, stick with me! So much thanks to everyone who reviews, especially JasonDragon64! Things start moving faster after this , I promise. I don't own, review, obligatory-ness. Love- Maya**

* * *

Kurt blinked up at Puck, quite dumbstruck. The words and the smile were so earnest, he didn't quite know what to make of any of it. Eventually, he settled for, "Was that all it took?"

"Was what all what took?"

"For an apology. I just had to ask?"

Puck gave him a vaguely sheepish smile, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I always meant to anyway. 'Sides, ask and ye shall receive."

Kurt shook his head indulgently. "How do you live, being so ridiculous?"

"Like a badass, Porcelain."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt stepped around him to scoop his iPod off of the piano and return it to his bag. "What really started this?" he asked over his shoulder, crouching over his bag. "You weren't like this before yesterday, but you haven't given me a straight answer yet."

"… I think it's Karofsky." Kurt's hands stilled in his bag, his shoulders going rigid. Apparently not noticing, Puck went on, "He's been acting really weird, like all the time, not just around you. Really distracted and angry. And seeing how he was with you…" Kurt could feel those eyes on his back. "It was worse than how he is with anyone else."

Forcing himself to resume his rummaging, Kurt answered, "I'm sure. I'm extra-special, after all."

"Uh-huh." He didn't need to see Puck's expression to know he didn't believe him. In one smooth motion, he rose from the floor and turned to face Puck, swinging his bag over his shoulder, with the most neutral expression he could manage. "There's something else." It wasn't a question.

In answer (or not really), Kurt shrugged. "I'm going to the cafeteria," he announced. He spun on his heel and walked, know Puck would follow. Gripping the strap of his bag in one hand, he descended as confidently as he could into the dark of the audience.

Puck scampered after, coming abreast of him. "There is something else," he repeated.

Kurt took a page from Sue Sylvester's book. "You can't prove that."

"Does it have something to do with that secret of his?" He held the door for Kurt, who rewarded him with a scowl.

"None of your business." He attempted to flounce away.

Puck was having none of that. He made no visible effort to keep up, yet managed to easily. Damn jock. "If I'm going to protect you, it's my business."

"Well, I'm not telling." He stuck his nose firmly into the air and looked away.

Puck had the gall to chuckle. Chuckle. "You're such a kid."

"Shut up, Puckerman, and respect your elders."

"And when have I been known to do that?"

He had him there. Kurt folded his arms petulantly over his chest. "Well, maybe you should start," he grumbled lamely.

Puck made a huge show of considering that option before grinning and answering, "Nah." He slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders, and Kurt sniffed indignantly at him. They strode into the cafeteria, Puck's swagger no different than usual, and Kurt could feel some of that confidence seeping through the lack of space between them and into his skin, powering and relaxing him.

The look on Mercedes' face was priceless, needless to say. Her eyes appeared to be trying to escape her face, her eyebrows had run away to be with her hairline, and it would probably take her conscious effort to pick her jaw up off the floor. Kurt gave her a sheepish smile, and her expression changed. Now just one perfectly-groomed brow (courtesy of Kurt) was in orbit.

As if it happened ever day, Puck sailed past the jock table, not sparing his teammates a glance as he led Kurt to the gleek table. Kurt sat uncertainly in his usual place across form Mercedes, expecting Puck to leave once he was safely deposited, but Puck settled coolly into the seat beside his, draping his leather-clad arm across the back of Kurt's chair and nodding to Mercedes. "Aretha," he greeted.

She looked back and forth between the two boys, jaw still slack in disbelief, before she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "freakin' white people" and fixed Kurt with her sternest glare. "Baby Boy," she said, "you know you're about to explain this nonsense to me."

Kurt flapped his hand helplessly at Puck. "Ask him, I still don't know what's going on."

Her glare transferred to Puck, who rolled his eyes. "I've been a dick to Hummel," he began. Mercedes nodded slowly, as this was news to exactly no one. "I decided to make up for it, and in the process thereof I learned that my boy here is way and much cooler than anyone over at that table." He jerked his head in his teammates' direction. "Lemme tell you, that makes me feel even worse about the hell I put him through. So, here I am, protecting him from bullies and generally reveling in our mutual badassness."

Dumbstruck, Mercedes blinked at him before turning to Kurt, who just shrugged, the blush on his cheeks doing absolutely nothing to calm her nerves. "And what started all this?"

Puck's eyes slid to Kurt, who shook his head minutely. Looking at Mercedes again, Puck replied, "I saw him getting hassled in the hallway yesterday, and I just couldn't stand for it anymore." Puck's hand left the back of Kurt's chair to slide comfortingly between Kurt's shoulder blades; Kurt was startled at how effective such a gesture was on him, especially from Puck. "It's kind of hard to believe I used to be that guy," Puck went on, and he sounded so sad, so disappointed in himself.

Kurt leaned back ever-so-slightly into Puck's touch, a gesture of trust. "You were never quite that guy," Kurt assured him. "Trust me."


	8. Chapter 8

**This took me forever. And then it's short. What. I am so sorry. Well, now I kind of practically know what I'm doing with this story, and I know where I'm going, so bear with me please! Updating is probably going to be slow from here on, because I really don't want this getting away from me and then we're all confused and that does not end well. So yeah, review, I don't own, read!- Love, Maya**

* * *

_"You were never that guy. Trust me."_

That tiny gesture and those words meant more to Puck than he wanted to imagine. He didn't quite believe it, but he could hear something dark under the assurance, so he didn't question it, not here. Instead he just moved his hand in a small, soothing circle between Hummel's shoulder blades. Hummel didn't comment; his only reaction was a slight relaxing of his muscles under Puck's hand.

Aretha looked disapprovingly from boy to boy. "But why, all of a sudden?"

Hummel turned his head to look at Puck, but didn't pull away from his touch. "I don't have an answer," Puck told her truthfully. Under his hand, Hummel neither tensed nor relaxed and his piercing eyes remained placidly trained on Puck's face. "All I know is I like him better when he's not scared, and I wanna make that happen."

There was a beat of silence, and wordlessly, Hummel reached over and calmly patted Puck's knee, staring at Mercedes the whole time. She saw the motion, not that Hummel was sneaky about it or anything, and her eyes went almost impossibly wide. He gave her a serene smile. "I'm giving him a shot," he said softly, and it took everything Puck had not to beam. Badasses don't beam.

Aretha shot Puck another glare. "Does he deserve it?" she asked harshly.

Puck almost shrank from her glare, but Hummel squeezed his knee before releasing it and saying, "Few ever do. It was my decision, and it's been made. He'll be sticking around until he proves he doesn't deserve to." Puck stared at him. There was no uncertainty in his blue-for-now eyes, and his tone and gaze clearly and wordlessly stated that his decree would be followed to the letter. This was the Kurt Hummel that Puck had respect for, the one he was afraid of losing to all of the harassment from bigots like Karofsky. Puck set his jaw.

Mercedes shook her head and reached across the table to lay her hand over Hummel's. "You're opening yourself up to be hurt," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yes, sometimes you have to."

Puck scowled indignantly and turned toward Hummel. "I'm not going to—"

"I know," Hummel cut him off gently. "But I've given you the opportunity to." Puck had no answer to that.

* * *

When Kurt walked into Glee that afternoon, the girls had surrounded Puck. The strange thing about this was Puck's expression at being surrounded by some of the most beautiful girls in the school. It was the oddest cringe, riddled with desperation, exasperation, and thinly-veiled fear. When Puck's eyes alighted on Kurt in the doorway, the fear spiked, those eyes going wide with warning. The girls instantly recognized that they had lost his attention and followed his gaze to Kurt, who felt the urge to take a step back. As one, they turned away from their current target and came flying at Kurt, Quinn reaching him first. She seized him by the bicep and demanded, "What are you doing with Puck?"

"Yeah." Tina grabbed his other arm. "Puck's bad news, plus you hate each other."

Rachel stepped forward, clearing her throat and brushing nonexistent lint from the front of her obscenely short skirt. "Kurt, while I applaud your efforts to reach out to the less-cultured, as team captain I simply cannot have you endangering life and limb by keeping company with ruffians, thereby damaging our chances at Sectionals. I shall have to ask you to break up with Noah."

Kurt blinked down at her, quite bewildered, and she stared back seriously. He looked at Puck, who shrugged helplessly. He returned his attention to Rachel. "… I'm not sure I can even begin to respond to any of that, so let me start here: 'break up with Noah,' you say?"

"You and Noah are in love," she told him decisively. "It's the only explanation for your newfound camaraderie. However, it is simply not safe." She clasped his hand, understanding pity in her eyes, as he gazed back dumbly and waited for Ashton Kutcher to leap out of somewhere. "You must understand, Kurt, everything he touches burns. He'll only hurt you, just like—"

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there." Kurt didn't raise his voice, but he didn't have to. "Firstly, you don't know the future, nor do you know Noah, nor do you know the whole story. Secondly, who is dating who is not your business, and you have no leg whatsoever to stand on regarding relationships. Thirdly, I am not dating Noah Puckerman!"

"Not to mention," Puck drawled, rising from his seat and draping an arm over Kurt's shoulders, "if we were dating, it _really_ wouldn't be your business." When Kurt and Rachel both blinked up at him (in unison. Weird.), he elaborated, "I mean, in that case, I'd be closeted, and you, Miss Berry, just called me out on my relationship with a guy in a public place. You would've outed me." He gave her a reproachful look. "How cruel of you. I'd expect better of someone with two gay dads."

While Rachel flushed and stammered apologies and excuses, Kurt dug his nails into his palms and thought of his plans for the evening, and which worlds would rock in their wake.


	9. Chapter 9

**Things are about to really pick up in here. Ooh, I'm so excited! This is a long one, too. Review, I own nothing, etc! Love and squee!- Maya (I'm so excited I just misspelled my own name. Y'all ready for this?)**

* * *

_"Have you ever thought, just maybe,_

_ "You belong with me?_

_ "You belong with me."_

After a beat of silence, Mr. Schuester clapped his hand over his forehead and dragged it slowly down his face to finally fall resignedly into his lap. "Rachel…"

"Yes, Mr. Schuester?" Her eyes were bright with anticipated praise.

"Do you recall what the assignment is this week?" Santana attempted to stifle a laugh, but it came out anyway as snort.

Rachel smoothed her hands over her matronly micro-miniskirt. "Of course; to be discreet."

"Yes," Schue sighed. "And you know what it is to be discreet?"

She sniffed indignantly. "I should think that would be obvious. I have discretion pouring from my ears."

Mr. Schue lifted a brow. "Oh? Then why is Finn blushing so hard?"

Suddenly Finn was staring extremely hard at the floor. Quinn, as his girlfriend-du-jour, slowly turned to fix him with a sweetly murderous look. "Yeah, Finn. Why _are_ you blushing?"

As Finn spluttered incoherently and Rachel—lying poorly—insisted that she hadn't been singing to him ("No, I was singing to a different boy. You don't know him he goes to… another school, one that's not Carmel High, though, obviously, I mean how dumb do you think I am?"), Kurt rolled his eyes and examined his nails in the back row. Another Finchel off-again phase, really? The same old, same old, and it would never change. He didn't even need to act as peanut gallery; that was what Santana was for. They wouldn't miss him, when the time came.

When a resigned Mr. Schuester slouched away into his office, Kurt began packing his bag as Mercedes attempted to defend her telling the girls about his and Puck's… friendship, he supposed. _It's to keep you safe; I was just worried; I needed backup, since you're not listening to reason_. He sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder, Mercedes still talking at his elbow; he'd have to cold-shoulder her for at least the next twenty-four hours. As if he didn't have enough to do. From the corner of his eye, he saw Puck break away from Tina and Quinn and come toward him. "Hummel."

Kurt sighed and looked up to meet his eyes. "Yes, Noah, what is it?'

Puck blinked at the use of his first name, then asked, "Can you give me a ride home? I'm still kinda stranded."

Kurt closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, sure." If he was tired now, he'd be drained tonight, and that would not do. He let Puck lead him from the room, both of them ignoring the girls' frustrated calls. From his pocket blared "No Boundaries," and Kurt stopped short and withdrew his phone, giving Puck an apologetic look. "Sorry, I have to take this." Without waiting for his answering nod, he scampered into the empty girls' bathroom and brought his phone to his ear. "Blaine?"

"_Kurt. How are you doing?_"

Kurt raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm alright."

"_You're no such thing._" He could hear the indulgent, sad smile in Blaine's tone, his breathing.

"You're right. Of course I'm not alright, but I could be worse."

"_Could you?_"

"I could be bleeding behind the dumpsters." That sure shut him up. "Honestly, I'm counting the days until I am."

Blaine was quiet for another moment. "_Listen, Kurt. I'm pulling some strings over here at Dalton—I have some influence as the Warblers' lead—and—_"

"Blaine. What happened to facing my demons?"

"_That obviously didn't pan out. I just want you to be safe._"

"I know," Kurt said softly.

They were quiet for a few seconds before Blaine changed the subject. "_Are we still on for this afternoon?_"

"Oh, right." Kurt ran his hand through his hair again. "Sorry, I can't make our usual coffee date; I have something to attend to tonight. Next week, though."

"_Alright, I'll let you go. Please, be safe, okay?_"

"I'll do what I can," he promised honestly before disconnecting.

* * *

Puck let his head fall back against the wall, his ankles crossed and hands in his pockets. Hummel had a date? Hummel dated? Who the hell did Hummel have within a fifty mile radius to _date_? And Hummel was cancelling that date? _The hell? _Puck pursed his lips. But wait, these dates were "usual"? It sounded like a weekly thing. Kurt Hummel was going on dates with some dude—named, like, Bob or Barry or Stewart or whatever—every week?

Get it, Hummel.

Said boy pushed the bathroom door open, halting in the doorway with wide eyes at the sight of Puck leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "'Sup," he greeted casually.

Hummel blinked at him. "Hello, Noah."

Puck smirked knowingly at him. "So, cancelling a hot date?" Hummel rolled his eyes, pushing past him with a noise of disgust. Puck's smirk grew as he followed him to the parking lot, hands still tucked casually in his pockets. "I mean, really, Hummel. I'm not positive that skipping out on a date is the smartest thing you've ever done."

They reached the Navigator, and Hummel arched a brow at him over the hood. "Oh?" His eyes were ice chips, and his tone clearly indicated that this was a rhetorical non-question.

Puck, however, did not care. He never did have the greatest self-preservation instincts. "You see, Hummel," he lectured, climbing into the passenger seat, "around here, you're not likely to date much. Don't even get me started on your lack of sex life—"

"Oh, I won't," Hummel snorted, starting his baby up.

Puck gave him a reproachful look. "It's rude to interrupt, you know." Hummel rolled his eyes, but said no more. "_Anyway_, it's not like underwear models who enjoy cock are just coming out of the woodwork in the center of Ohio. Actually, I think you're the only gay guy in Lima." He paused to consider. "Well, except Rachel's dads, but I'm pretty sure they're not your type." He glanced at Hummel, and stopped to stare. Hummel was staring hard at the road ahead, his lower lip clamped between his teeth. His grip on the steering wheel was turning his knuckles white—like it always seemed to when he was upset—and his face was even whiter. "Hummel?"

Hummel blinked twice, relaxing his fingers on the wheel and releasing his lip to take a breath. "Sorry," he said haughtily, "I started tuning you out at the mention of sex. I do not need to discuss that with you, or anyone else for that matter."

Puck didn't buy it, but he played along and let it go, rolling his eyes. "Poor Barry, then."

Hummel gave him a confused look. "Who in the world is Barry?"

"Bernard, then. Brett? That guy you were on the phone with, What's-His-Face."

"Oh, Blaine. What about him?"

Puck leaned toward him with a leering smirk, which Hummel didn't react to even a little bit. Damn. "I heard you talking about a date? What, were you just gonna leave the poor guy with blue balls when the time came?"

Hummel rolled his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but Blaine and I aren't together. When we say 'date,' it's more like… 'appointment,' for lack of a better word."

"Then why not just say 'appointment'?"

"Too impersonal. We're gay; we're allowed to use overly personal terms like that when we don't mean them."

Puck nodded slowly, then allowed Hummel a minute or so of quiet. He had building up to this. "So, what was all that I heard about bleeding behind the dumpsters? That a euphemism?"

Somehow, Hummel managed to freeze, rigid as a cliff, yet still operate the vehicle safely, even though his movements were stiff and woodenly uncomfortable. It was like he was some porcelain marionette, someone else pulling his strings while he sat there with his carefully blank eyes in his carefully blank face. After a few seconds of silence, Hummel said in the tiniest voice, "You heard all that?"

"You're just counting the days?" Hummel winced before schooling his face back into that mask. "What has you so scared, huh?" Puck demanded. "You're one of the most fearless people in this shithole town, so who scares you that much?"

A weak, tentative smile stretched Hummel's lips, but a sad, breathy excuse for a laugh slipped through them. "You think I'm fearless?"

"Don't change the subject. Are you being threatened?"

Hummel sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he turned onto Puck's street. "Look, don't worry about it."

"Didn't I tell you not to tell me not to worry? Because, A: you're not the boss of me, I'll worry if I want to, and B: that just freaks me out more, like you're hiding something."

The Navigator stopped (a little abruptly, in Puck's opinion, but he wasn't about to comment) in front of the Puckerman residence, and Hummel dropped his hands into his lap and dug his perfect nails into his palms. He kept doing that today. "I'm not hiding anything," he said quietly. "You know me, Noah; I've never been any good at hiding."

* * *

When he got home, Kurt made himself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table to drink it, staring at the wall in front of him like it had all the answers if he just looked hard enough. It didn't though, or it didn't feel like sharing, so he finished his coffee and washed out his mug, then the coffee maker. He began his homework, but it seemed to take longer in his distracted state. He wasn't sure if he was grateful for that or pissed. Despite himself, he finished two essays ahead of schedule and had the next three chapters of both pre-calculus and physics outlined. With a sigh, he abandoned his schoolwork and got upstairs into the waning light to make dinner. Burt Hummel made it home ten minutes before his son was done cooking, and Kurt let him set the table. They shared a companionable-as-always meal, during which Kurt complained only half-jokingly about what eating so late would do to his skin.

At length, his dad retired to the TV room to watch Deadliest Catch, and no matter how eager Kurt was to put off his plans for that night, he could not sit through that nonsense. So down he went into his room. He drank a bottle of water and cracked a second one open before warming up his vocal cords unnecessarily and singing through his song for Glee—it was his turn next practice—twice. Once he'd wiped away his tears, he dug through his closet for an old sweatshirt of his dad's that he'd appropriated. Now it smelled of detergent and Chanel No. 5, but as he pulled it over his head, he could have sworn that a trace of that motor oil scent still clung to the worn fabric.

He raked his fingers nervously through his hair before sitting down at his desk and opening his laptop. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he turned on his webcam.

* * *

**Songs used: You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift; No Boundaries by Kris Allen (mentioned briefly, but practice safe fanfiction!). I own neither them nor their respective music. I wanna hear what you guys think Kurt is doing! **


	10. Chapter 10

**I liiiive! It's been awhile, but I've been all upset with this story, convinced I had writers' block, and then I look down and realize I have four chapters written, and they aren't even short. I am weird, guys. So, I hope you all remember that there will be a surprise celebrity guest, because I do! He remains a surprise, but you're all welcome to guess in those lovely review things. I own nothing and whatnot. Love- Maya**

* * *

Puck settled into the passenger seat of Hummel's Navigator for the seventh time that week as Hummel himself put the key into the ignition, no longer needing direction to the Puckerman residence. Puck watched him from the corner of his eye, both of them silent. It wasn't an awkward, tense kind of silence, though; they just didn't really need words. They were perfectly capable of and comfortable with relaxing in each other's presence, since they liked each other fine and, as far as either of them was concerned, that was that.

Following Hummel around for the past few days, Puck could now see past the fancy clothes and bitchy one-liners (both of which, Puck now realized, had been strangely muted since the Hudmel wedding), and he had determined that Hummel was a genuinely cool guy. He was really smart, with a biting, snarky sense of humor and a quick wit to match, plus this weird tendency toward being polite and/or nice to people until they proved they didn't deserve it. He was even attractive, in a feminine-yet-masculine-or-whatever kind of way. Were this a big city somewhere, he'd run his school, with scores of boy-toys and everyone scrambling to lick his boots. What was more, he knew he'd only scratched the surface of Kurt Hummel, and he was anxious and excited to know more.

The downside was, knowing what a great guy Hummel was made Puck feel awful. Every time Hummel said something funny or helped Brittany find the bathroom, he recalled dumpster dives, swirlies and slushies. Hummel hadn't deserved any of that. Of course, he had always known that, deep down, but knowing Hummel personally and actually liking him emphasized it. All he wanted to do was go back in time and punch beginning-of-sophomore-year Puck in the face. However, all those feelings (shut up, badasses have feelings) lit a fire under him to protect Hummel from dickwads like his former self. That heavy stone of shame in his gut made it that much sweeter to locker-check Azimio, Karofsky, and their ilk whenever they looked askance at Hummel, not to mention it was fun to fuck with their heads.

He'd even managed to hug Hummel in the middle of the cafeteria yesterday. Puck took his eyes off his boy for, like, ten seconds (fine ass atop finer legs, sue him), and when he looked again, Hummel was about ten feet from him, his eyes falling to the ground as his arms began to wrap themselves around his middle. Puck immediately scanned Hummel's line of sight to see Karofsky watching from the other end of the cafeteria, the faintest of satisfied smirks on his face.

Puck chuckled to himself now; he hadn't even thought about it. He just strode over and grabbed Hummel's wrist, dragging him into his chest. He landed against Puck (and his totally epic pecs and abs) with a tiny squeak, and Puck may or may not have laughed at that as he wrapped his arms around Hummel, one around his waist and one around his shoulders. He froze in shock against him, and Puck looked over Hummel's shoulder at Karofsky. The bully's jaw had set, his eyes hard with inexplicable fire, and Puck injected warning into his gaze. Karofsky stood a little straighter in defiance, his lip curling, and turned abruptly away. Puck grinned at his back, and then Hummel started to fight him and he had to let go. He got the bitching-out of a lifetime in the Navigator on the way home (Hummel was too nice to leave him stranded, no matter how pissed he was), but it was so worth it.

"Noah."

Hummel's voice jerked him from his fond memories. "Hm?"

"At which shop, exactly, is your truck? They're taking forever."

"Oh, uh…" His eyes drifted out the window. "It's, uh, not."

Hummel turned briefly to give him a Look. "'It's not,'" he repeated flatly.

"Yeah, when I said 'in the shop,' I meant 'broken and I don't know how to fix it, so it's sitting in my driveway.'"

Hummel made a noise of disapproval, pursing his lips and casting Puck a reproachful, sidelong look. "'Broken,' huh? Broken how?"

"I don't… actually know." He flapped his hand helplessly. "It makes, like, this weird noise, and then it doesn't seem to start right, but I couldn't tell you what's wrong with it for the life of me. It seems fine, except the damn thing doesn't work."

"Mm." They pulled up to the Puckerman house, and Hummel surprised him by putting his baby into park and pocketing the keys. "Show me," he ordered coolly before opening his door.

Puck obeyed instantly with no more than a briefly lifted eyebrow. This was his favorite Kurt Hummel, the confident one who could see no reason why his demands wouldn't be met. He led Hummel to his truck, answering questions he didn't understand the point of as they went. Hummel made him pop the hood, then leaned into the machinery. His hands worked nimbly and surely, and he kept making these little "hm" noises, ranging from pleased to disapproving to downright pissed. Puck watched, answering the odd question as best he could, with no input or help to give and nothing to do but stare.

After about five minutes of this, Hummel straightened. "Mm-mm, no, this will not do. Who is your mechanic? I'll have them executed immediately."

Puck kind of believed him. "Uhm… me?"

"You're joking." After a moment of silence, sheepish on Puck's side and judging on Hummel's, Hummel said, "Oh my GaGa, you're serious. This will not do; I won't have it. I mean, no offense, Noah, but can you even change a car battery?"

"Since when did cars have batteries? Mine's not electric, it's a man car."

Hummel's eyes fell closed. "Oh, hell no. That is it." He strode back to the navigator and produced towing cables, raising Puck's brows. "We're taking that poor thing back to my dad's shop this instant."

"You had towing cables? In your baby?"

Hummel gave him that disdainful up-and-down look he'd perfected over the years. "She's my baby, so she's just like me: pretty and functional." He did the look again, barely slower this time. "Now, prove you're the same as us and help me."

Puck smirked. "You think I'm pretty?"

Hummel rolled his eyes. "You know I do, everyone does, now prove those muscles aren't just for show."

"Well." He knew he would do it; he was finding that he never could stand up to that tone. But he could still talk. "How pretty?"

"Oh, shut up. Just for that, I'm not helping you do it. I'm supervising now." With that, he shoved the cables into Puck's chest before climbing into his baby and expertly backing into the driveway and into position in front of the truck. When he climbed out again, he paused, his lips pursed as he assessed Puck. "Why aren't you freaking out, anyway?"

Puck glanced up, cables in hand, and he crouched between their vehicles. "Why would I?"

Hummel made a show of sliding his eyes over Puck's form as he leaned against the back of his car. "Because I, a homosexual man, think you're attractive, plus I told you to your face."

"And?" Puck at least knew how to hook up two cars. Wow, the Navigator had a hitch on it and everything.

"'And'? What if I want into your pants?" He sounded vaguely disgusted and most certainly joking.

So Puck does the obvious. He smolders up at him. "Everyone wants into my pants, Hummel."

The smolder had no visible effect, which was literally the weirdest thing ever. Hummel just rolled his eyes and snorted, "Not everyone, sweetheart." He pushed away from the Navigator and leaned down beside Puck, looking over his shoulder. "Alright, good job. Hop in."

Puck scurried to obey, wondering why his patented smolder hadn't worked and why it mattered. As they started off down the street, he gave up pondering and turned to Hummel, demanding, "What do you mean, 'not everyone'? Who doesn't?"

"Oh, please. Are we really doing this?"

"Yes! Who doesn't find me hot enough to sleep with? I'm hot enough for, literally, anyone!"

"Wow, this is not a talk I want to have. Is this seriously my life?"

"I'm the sexiest thing with a dick in this hellhole!" Puck insisted.

Hummel flapped a hand in his direction. "Mm."

Puck pointed an accusing finger at him. "See? That was a goddamn noncommittal noise! You could be disagreeing, damn you." Not that he thought he was, because who could? He just wanted to hear it. Not that he was about to examine why.

"Ugh, for the love of—alright, fine, you're sexy. I find you very attractive, damn near irresistible, now will you _shut up_?"

Puck grinned. There it was. "Irresistible, huh?"

"I believe I said 'shut up.'" His cheeks were turning red, and he was not looking at Puck.

Puck leaned back in his seat, laughing. "Yeah, I don't blame you, Hummel. I mean, I'd do me."

Hummel snorted, some of the flush dissipating. "Please, I wouldn't 'do' you." He kept his hands at ten and two, as always, but the air quotes were positively audible.

"No, you're right," Puck said blithely. "I mean, obviously I'd top, so I'd be doing you."

Hummel gave a delicate little shudder. "Ugh. I _mean_, there'd be no doing of anything between you and me. This—" he waved his hand to indicate Puck's general being, "—has entirely too much jerk factor for me. Don't get me wrong, you're plenty attractive, what with your eyes and your cheekbones and lips and, oh, your body, but I could never be into you enough for anything."

Puck blinked, quite stunned. He had no idea what to make of any of that, especially since it sounded so honest. "Okay, so there's a bunch of things I _think_ I like in there… but then I got confused." And he most certainly wasn't about to examine that all by himself; Hummel had to tell him.

"Oh, drop it, you've got your answer and your ego is safe." As they pulled into Hummel Tires and Lube, Puck wondered if that was true.

* * *

_"They say we'll rot in hell._

_"Well, I don't think we will…"_

He looked up. "Who's singing that?"

"Oh, it's one of the 'It Gets Better's. This one's really sad."

He came around and leaned over her shoulder to see the laptop screen, bracing his hand on the table. "Most of them are."

"Here, I'll restart it." She rewound the video, and a slight, pale boy on-screen spoke hesitantly, softly:

_"Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel. And, um, if you're watching this and you know me, you're wondering, 'When the hell did it get better for you?'"_

"Aw," the man cooed. "He's adorable."

"I know, right? Keep watching."

Kurt went on, some hesitation fading as he spoke. _"Now, boys and girls, I'm not going to tell you about how my come-out in my cow-town inspired equality and hand-holding, or put an end to bigotry and bullying."_He looked down a little, far away. _"Quite the opposite. The harassment got worse, not that I was expecting anything different as the only out kid in Lima, Ohio."_He looked into the camera again, his determination apparently renewed. _"One of my regular bullies—who I hope is seeing this—is in the closet, and I'm doing this video for him. It's not like he confided in me about his sexuality or anything. It just sort of happened; he didn't want to tell me, or anyone else for that matter. I think part of why he's so awful to me is because he envies my openness, my comfort in my own skin and identity."_

He took a breath. The pair watching him on the laptop tensed, the man's bright eyes riveted. _"Well, before I came out, even to myself, I had none of that. My personality and behavior weren't any different than they are now, but I felt like I was living a lie, a lie by omission. When someone made a comment on how I acted—'swishy' is the best word I've heard for it to date—I insisted I was straight, and I would feel dirty for days. The weight of my identity, which I refused to acknowledge, got heavier and heavier, and I got angrier. Why was I like this? Why was I different?"_He snorted daintily. _"I see now that 'different' in this hellhole can only be a good thing. I hated myself and everyone around me for it at the time though."_

Kurt looked far away again, and the man wanted to hug him. Clearing his throat, he went on, looking seriously into the camera, _"I will tell you though, the way I feel about myself now is worth every ounce of shit I take every day. I see you fighting yourself every day, and I've been there. It's hard, I know, and you know firsthand everything I go through for being true to myself, being behind much of it. But I love myself. I'm at home as myself, in my own skin and soul. That's when it got better for me: when I accepted myself. You haven't yet, but despite all the things you and your cohorts do to me constantly, I want that security for you."_ His gaze became broader as he addressed the general populace. _"I want that for everyone, LGBT or not. So, uh, singing's kind of my thing, and this goes out to that one person."_ He began to sing acapella:

"_Oh, nowhere left to go._

"_Are we getting closer, closer?_

"_No, all we know is no._

"_Nights are getting colder, colder._

"_Hey, tears all fall the same._

"_We all feel the rain._

"_We can't change…"_

As they listened to the boy on-screen, she looked up at the man next to her. His face was set in a sad, serious smile of understanding, his eyes even brighter than usual with sympathy. When he'd finished the song, the video was over with a flush and throat-clearing from Kurt. The man straightened. "His voice is pretty. What'm I doing for the next few days?" he asked her.

"Hm? I dunno, some recording stuff."

He grinned. "I should go say 'hi.' Where's Lima, Ohio?"

* * *

**Song used: Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert. I own neither him nor his music. I don't think it's fair either.**


	11. Chapter 11

**...I am so sorry. Contrary to popular belief, I am alive, and death would be the only viable excuse for not updating in this long. I had to scrap a chapter, and that is seriously unfun. I couldn't bring myself to type, and then I hated half of what I wrote, then I got busy all of a sudden-one thing after another. Urgh. But I'm good now! Probably. Thank you, everyone who bothered to stick with me this long! I hereby cuddle you all _so hard_. So, read, review, so on and so forth. -Love, Maya**

* * *

He shouldn't have left the classroom, he saw that now. But he was nervous; Glee was next period, his "discretion" performance, and while he was confident that no one would realize who he was singing to or what about, anything was possible. His nerves were not doing wonders for his bladder, so he had to excuse himself to the bathroom doing class, sue him. Really, what's the worse that could plausibly happen?

Of course, as soon as Kurt stepped out of the bathroom into the empty halls, David Karofsky was there.

Kurt looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls in the silence, and cursed himself for not waiting until the in-between-classes crowds. Witnesses wouldn't do him _much_ good, since most of McKinley High wouldn't give the respective asses of two rats if he was messily offed before their eyes, but it was better than being alone. Down the hall, Karofsky's eyes zeroed in on him before he could duck out of sight, and the jock began to advance more purposefully. Kurt damned his pride as he came to a halt and stood his ground, squarely in the center of the hallway, even as Karofsky's stride and smirk grew. He came to a stop not a foot from Kurt, gazing down his nose at him as if he had every right to. "Hey there, Kurt."

Kurt did not tremble, even as the strangest mix of fear, pity, and fury washed over him. "David," he answered, pleasantly surprised at the even coolness of his voice and tone. "Can I help you?"

Karofsky's upper lip curled in an unattractive snarl, but Kurt gave him no reaction. "Don't call me that."

"I believe I know more than enough about you now to use your first name."

Fear flashed in Karofsky's eyes at Kurt's obvious meaning, and with a growl he had Kurt against the lockers by the front of his shirt. Kurt grimaced internally at the wrinkles; this was Marc Jacobs. "You don't know me," Karofsky hissed in his face. "You don't know anything about me!"

"I know enough," Kurt retorted, expertly keeping his composure through his fear and revulsion; he'd freak out later. "I know more about you than I ever wanted or intended, and that's your fault, not mine."

"_You_ kissed _me_," was Karofsky's insistent, fearfully low response.

"I did no such thing and we both know it. You're only making this harder on both of us." The pity won out momentarily over his other swirling emotions. "It doesn't have to be this difficult, David," he said gently. "Believe me."

A harsh sound, something like a sob, escaped the larger boy, his head bowing as he bit down hard on his lip in a bid for control. "Shut up," he whispered brokenly, his desperate fingers tightening in the front of Kurt's shirt.

"And what good would that do? David, I can see what this is doing to you, this useless, ridiculous fight, and the way you take it out on me. None of this will fix anything, and your nature won't just go away."

Karofsky shoved away from him then, ending up halfway across the hall, his eyes wild with fear and rage. "It would all go away if you were dead." With that, he stormed away.

For the first time since that horrible moment in the locker room, Kurt believed it was only a threat. His resolve was only strengthened.

* * *

Puck picked Kurt up from class, the days-old routine already natural to both of them. Like usual, Puck slung an arm over Kurt's shoulders, but Kurt didn't fight him. Puck lifted a brow at that; Kurt never let anyone touch him easily, and he always at least pretended to try to squirm away from Puck, or even Finn. "You okay?" he asked.

Kurt looked up and offered a smile that he knew was weak. "Of course I am. I'm just a bit jittery over my performance."

"Like hell," Puck answered succinctly. He was right, of course. Performing never made Kurt nervous, but it wasn't like he was full-on lying.

So he scowled. "Even one so fabulous as myself gets nervous, Noah."

"Not about something you consistently pwn. Unless there's something special about this performance?" He said it like a question, but Kurt heard the obvious invitation to 'fess up.

Kurt pursed his lips. Over the past few days, he had learned that Noah Puckerman was not stupid. He was very not stupid, and every time Puck got him alone Kurt could feel him chipping inexorably away at his icy façade, catching glimpses of the lonely sixteen-year-old boy he was beneath his flashy clothes, biting wit, and sexuality. It was kind of nice, having someone around who wanted to know him beyond the cold front he presented to the world, but sometimes Kurt hated it. He had secrets to guard, and Puck always seemed to recognize and subsequently call him on his bullshit.

"I actually have to dedicate this song to someone," he answered Puck.

"Bullshit. You dedicate songs all the time, and you're never shy about it." See.

Kurt thought quickly. "Yes," he said slowly, "exactly, and that's why I'm worried. I've never been very discreet." Again, strictly speaking, he wasn't lying.

Puck snorted. "Don't worry about that; no one's being anything _like_ discreet, as usual. Seriously, everyone is completely blowing this assignment's hairy balls. It's only a matter of time before the Schue gives up."

Kurt looked up at him from under his leather-clad arm. "What about you? Do you think you have this assignment in hand?"

Puck's jaw and eyes hardened, the latter fixed on the choir room door as it came into view, but his tone remained light. "'Course I do. I'm a badass."

* * *

"Alright, guys." Will clapped his hands once and rubbed them together as if in anticipation, but his tone and eyes were full of tired resignation. "Who's ready to perform?"

Sitting in the back with his arm draped across the back of Hummel's chair, Puck cast his newest friend a sidelong glance. Hummel was staring dead ahead, his blankest ice-mask firmly in place, his legs crossed with his perfectly-manicured fingers interlaced over his top knee. Puck subtly poked at the center of Hummel's back, right on his spine between his shoulder blades, but Hummel didn't react. Damn, he was good.

Quinn was on her feet, a caustic smile on her face. "Why, yes, Mr. Schuester," she said with cavity-inducing sweetness as she shot Finn a venomous look, "I do have an appropriate song prepared." She took the floor without waiting for Will's response, her flouncy skirt swirling around her knees. As Mr. Schue gave up and took his seat, Quinn nodded to the band and the intro began.

"Oh, for—" Hummel muttered under his breath before cutting himself off and bowing his head with a sigh. Puck didn't recognize the song, but apparently Hummel did, so Puck smirked and settled in for a show.

"_Who are you to be emotional?_

"_Who are you to play with hearts and throw away it all?_

"_Who are you to turn each other's heads?"_

As Quinn sang, embarrassed anger showed more and more plainly on Finn and Rachel's faces, and Puck bit his lip to keep in the laughter.

"_Who are you to tell yourselves that you're misunderstood?  
"Oh, who is she to say she's always yours?  
"Who is she to choose the boy that everyone adores?_

"_Oh, I don't see a reason why you can't just be apart,_

"_Not falling on each other like you're always in the dark."_

Puck leaned over to whisper in Kurt's ear, "Discretion: check." Hummel snorted inelegantly in an effort to keep in his laughter, and Puck sat back with great satisfaction. Quinn noticed none of the exchange and sang on.

"_This love is not what you want._

"_Her heart will never be yours._

"_This love is be and end all._

"_This love will be your downfall."_

The music ended, and Mr. Schue was instantly on his feet, his arms raised for peace. "Now, before anyone reacts to that!" He turned to Quinn, a reproachfully disappointed look on his face. "Quinn, that is exactly what I said not to do."

"It's not like I was singing to anyone obvious." Quinn's hard, burning stare at Finn and Rachel (which they both avoided with red cheeks) belied her innocent tone handily. "I'm sorry if _some people_ thought I was singing about them and their widdle feelings got hurt."

Santana unabashedly burst out laughing, and Hummel whispered in Puck's ear, "I don't know why we don't sell tickets."

* * *

**Song used: This Love (Will Be Your Downfall), by Ellie Goulding. I just changed some pronouns.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Forgot to mention last chapter, I don't own Glee, Ellie Goudling, or her music. With that out of the way, this two-chapters-one-night thing is my apology for leaving y'all hanging for so long. Short, but a chapter. So, yay! It goes down in this chapter. Also, you guys rock, reviewing so fast. I love all of you! So, read, review, I don't own. So much love-Maya**

* * *

He took off his sunglasses as the balding Indian man let him into the school. "Hi, it's nice to finally meet you face-to-face," he greeted the principal, accepting the enthusiastic handshake. "Thanks so much for keeping this quiet."

"It's my pleasure," Figgins assured him eagerly as he led the way through the deserted, silent halls to his office. "The children will love the surprise!" As they passed her, Figgins' secretary glanced briefly up with boredom before double-taking with wide, awed eyes. The tall man offered her a smile and hoped she wouldn't faint. That happened sometimes.

"So," Figgins began, offering his guest a seat with a gesture as he settled behind his desk and his secretary stared through the glass walls, "when would you like to give that talk to the children?"

"Well, first," the man said, taking his seat and trying to ignore the eyes on his back, "would it be alright if I spoke to Kurt Hummel, the student I mentioned? This wouldn't be happening if it weren't for him."

"Certainly." Figgins reached for the corded phone on his desk. "I'll have him sent down—"

"Actually," the black-haired man interrupted, as politely as he could, with a faint, mischievous smile, "what class is he in now?"

* * *

In the end, Rachel stormed out, Finn staring regretfully after her as Quinn glared warningly at him from the other end of the room. Chuckling, Puck looked to Hummel to share in the fun, only to stop laughing. There was an amused, disbelieving smile on Hummel's face, yes, and he was clearly fighting laughter himself, but his weird-colored eyes were dark and sad, lonely. How did he manage that?

Before Puck could do anything about that look in Hummel's eyes, Schue clapped his hands for (some semblance of) order. "Alright, enough! Kurt, you're up," he said resignedly.

Hummel stiffened, almost imperceptibly and only for a moment, before standing, adjusting his clothes, and descending. When he reached the floor, he simply turned, nodded to the band, and began.

_"I was born in a big, grey cloud, screaming out a love song._

_ "All the broken chords and unnamed cries._

_ "What a place to come from._

_ "I wish to remain nameless and live without shame,_

_ "Because what's in a name?_

_ "Oh, I still remain the same."_

Tina and Quinn exchanged a glace, then hurried to stand behind Hummel, snapping their fingers and backing him up with harmonies.

_ "You can call this what you want._

_ "You can call me anything you want._

_ "Everybody lets you down in this freefall of a town._

_ "Born a different soul, rushing out._

_ "Tell me what you're running from."_

Raw emotion, something sad that Puck couldn't quite name, showed on Hummel's face, and unshed tears shone in his eyes. Nevertheless, Puck dragged his eyes from the boy singing to take in the faces around him.

_"I know everybody lets you down,_

_ "And I'll do the same._

_ "But know I'll always be around._

_ "This can remain the same."_

Everyone wore varied expressions of shocked awe, which was understandable. Typically, a Kurt Hummel performance was technically perfect, if a bit cold, his only emoting coming from his enjoyment of the number and the flawless sound of his own voice. Today, the intensity of his emotion shocked everyone, forcing them to feel whatever it was Hummel was feeling.

_"Call me when you need me._

_ "Call me anything you want._

_ "Darling, believe me,_

_ "It's nothing I haven't done before."_

Looking around, Puck saw tears in every girl's face, and he wondered if anyone but Hummel knew what they were for, because he certainly didn't. He resolved to find out.

_"Call me when you need me…"_

Hummel held the last astronomical note perfectly, Tina, Quinn, and the band quiet around him as his voice echoed in the silent room. Hummel's eyes fell closed and a single tear escaped down his cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. Puck meant to lead up and pull him into a crushing hug—he'd never seen Hummel look more like he needed it—but the haunting beauty of Hummel's song, voice, and emotions had paralyzed him.

After a few more beats of stillness, someone began to clap. All eyes flew to the doorway where a tall man with spiky black hair and darkly-lined neon-blue eyes stood applauding. Gasps (mostly feminine) went up around the room, and Hummel froze completely.

The man grinned. "I thought I recognized that voice. It's even more compelling live."

Hummel blinked at him a few times before whispering, "Oh, my Ra."

The man's grin widened, if a little bashfully, and he strode forward into the room, extending his hand to Hummel. "Hi, I'm Adam Lambert. I came to meet you, Kurt."

Three seconds of silence passed before a thoroughly confused Puck exclaimed, "What the fuck?"

* * *

**Song used: Remain Nameless by Florence + The Machine. I don't own them or their music. Also, Kurt referenced Oh My Ra by Adam Lambert. I don't own him or his music. Now, SUPER DISCLAIMER: I have no rights to the public figure Adam Lambert nor do I know the actual dude personally; this me expounding upon what I could glean from Google and Youtube. Nobody yell at me for getting him wrong, which I probably will. Believe me, I agonized over this being an actual person and not a fictional character. For days.**


	13. Chapter 13

**You guys. So many reviews. I love you! Keep 'em coming! I don't own Glee, any of it's characters, the public figure known as Adam Lambert, or the actual aforementioned dude. I also don't own the It Gets Better campaign, but I have no clue who, if anyone, has the rights to that. I am borrowing all of it. On to business. -Love, Maya**

* * *

"What is happening?" Mr. Schue asked. "What is an 'Adam Lambert'?" The girls shushed him, so he Googled it on his phone. "Ah." He blinked, then whispered, "_Oh,"_ before retreating to his office to call Figgins and demand some answers.

When Kurt recovered a few seconds later (while Adam waited patiently, watching him with an amused smile), he said, in a voice that was just a touch breathless, "Okay, first off: someone text Rachel, or she'll never let any of us hear the end of it." He wiped away that single wayward tear with his left hand and extended his right to shake Adam's. "Secondly: oh, my gods, I love you."

Adam laughed and clasped Kurt's hand in both of his. "Aren't you sweet? You're even more adorable in person."

Kurt blinked at him in dazed confusion. "What do you mean, 'in person'?"

Adam's gaze flicked briefly over their stunned audience, then he leaned a bit closer to Kurt and said quietly, "I saw your _It Gets Better_ video. Thought I should come congratulate you."

Before Kurt could respond, Rachel burst into the room, breathing a little heavily with frenzied eyes. When said eyes alighted on one Adam Lambert, she made a brief strangled noise before pasting on her showbiz-ready smile and advancing. "Mr. Lambert," she greeted, extending a hand and doing that almost-curtsy thing she reserved for networking and condescension, "I'm flattered that you've heard of me! Certainly, I wasn't expecting this so soon, but I always have a few little numbers prepared. What would you like to hear?"

Adam blinked down at her, then looked at Kurt, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut. Adam turned back to Rachel with a polite, if confused, smile on his face. "I'm sorry, dear, but who are you?"

Kurt sighed. "That would be Rachel."

This time she actually did curtsy. Kurt almost, _almost _couldn't believe it, and Adam most certainly couldn't. "Rachel Berry, at your service." She enunciated even more clearly and loudly than usual to say, "My two _gay, Jewish dads _are _huge fans_ of yours."

Adam and Kurt blinked at her in sync. "I don't know if I'm allowed to laugh or not," Kurt said, almost to himself.

"Is she always like that?" Adam asked him. Kurt nodded sadly. "Oh dear."

"So," Rachel chirped, reclaiming Adam's attention, "what would you like to hear? Barbra and Celine are my strong suits, just an FYI."

With another glance at Kurt, who shrugged helplessly, Adam told her, as gently as he could, "Actually, I came to see Kurt."

Rachel's face fell instantly into a serious, perplexed frown, her brow furrowed and lips pouting slightly. "Kurt?" She turned to said boy—who did not take a tiny step back, no matter what anyone said. "Did you win a sweepstakes or something? Why didn't you mention it to anyone?"

Before Kurt could answer (not too cuttingly, promise), Adam slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side. Kurt's eyes went comically wide as Adam said, as chipper as Rachel on her best day, "Actually, I saw a video online of him singing and had to come see for myself."

Rachel just stared up at him, and Kurt did the same.

A throat was cleared at Kurt's side, and he and Adam looked to see Puck standing there with tense shoulders, eyeing the taller man with a strange expression. "So who's your friend, Hummel?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Bitch, please; I caught you singing _Music Again_ under your breath two days ago." At this, Adam looked Puck up and down, taking in his worn Levi's, old Metallica shirt, and leather jacket with raised brows.

Weirdly enough, Puck blushed. "Shut up, you had been singing it in the car earlier and—" He cut himself off. "Not the point. I mean, why is he here?"

Kurt had no answer, so Adam replied, "I saw a video of you kids singing at a, uh, competition and Kurt really stood out to me. Saw myself in him or some such."

"Wait," Finn spoke up, slowly putting a hand out as if to stop the madness. "No offense, but does that mean you're, like… gay?"

Adam looked at him for a second, than asked Kurt in a surreptitious whisper, "Is he serious?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Kurt sighed.

"Finn's derpiness aside," Puck said, looking hard at Adam, "what, exactly brought you here, besides a singing gay kid that you need to hang all over? That can't be it." Adam's brows rose again.

"Noah, why is it even important?" Kurt asked, none of his panic seeping into his voice.

Puck looked at him. "Well, isn't it kinda weird that an international pop star showed up in the center of Ohio to this broke-ass, so-not-rainbow-it's-monochrome high school?" Kurt had no answer that wouldn't involve the content of his video, which the entire club would then demand to see before promptly spreading it all over the school. He floundered, and knew he was being obvious.

Adam took pity on both of them and released Kurt, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black jeans and replying, "I'm here to give an anti-bullying presentation." Kurt and Puck stared at him, the former in abject confusion, the latter in lingering suspicion. "After Kurt had my attention, I got into contact with his principal and his father, and from what they told me I gathered that this poor kid, in whom I see so much of myself, was being bullied awfully. So, I thought I'd use my powers for good and give a talk."

Kurt knew Adam was lying, at least about contacting his father—Burt could never hide something this big from him—and Figgins regarding his situation. He'd probably learned all he needed to from Kurt's video, then gone through the proper(ish) channels to be a surprise guest. He knew Principal Figgins would never fight an appearance by The Adam Lambert at his backwater school, but Kurt wondered what Adam had told the man to justify his coming. Whatever it was, he couldn't have spilled about the video, and Kurt internally let out a relieved breath at Adam's discretion.

Puck, however, was not satisfied. "So, what, you just 'thought you'd give a talk,' and it happens like that?" He snapped his fingers, and Kurt realized that Puck had moved closer to him as soon as Adam had let go of him; Puck's t-shirt was just short of brushing Kurt's sleeve. The fierce, yet subtle protectiveness of the gesture was striking to Kurt, and only a little heart-warming, honestly.

Although, really, what music-and-fashion-savvy gay boy wanted to be protected from Adam Lambert?

* * *

Adam's eyes shifted between Puck and Hummel for a few seconds, something in them that Puck did not like one bit. "Well, yes," Adam finally answered him, one eyebrow in the air like he knew something Puck didn't. He probably did, too.

"Noah." Puck looked down to see Hummel staring up at him, his wide eyes greener today but still blue. "What's wrong?" he asked slowly, gently, yet demanding an answer.

Puck didn't have one, so he took a half step back from Hummel and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Nothing." That was a lie; even though he didn't know what the problem was, he knew it existed, somewhere in his head or something.

The look Hummel gave him told him that he was fooling exactly no one, but he let it slide for now. Instead, he turned back to Adam, and Puck totally didn't clench his teeth. "So, just because of—what you found, you decided to come all the way here?" Was that hesitation? It so was. Why? They were talking about something, something they didn't want other people to know about.

Adam grinned at Hummel. "You inspired me; I wish I'd been as brave as you when I was your age." Hummel blushed, his gaze dropping to his fancy shoes, and maybe Puck grit his teeth a little.

He wrapped his fingers around Hummel's wrist and tugged him a little closer, away from Adam. "We should probably dust off. I gotta get home to watch Sarah today." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam's as-ridiculous-as-Hummel's eyes light up with speculation, or realization. Whichever it was, it made Puck nervous. Badasses don't get nervous.


	14. Chapter 14

**Okay, so I hated this chapter. Like, a lot. I actually rewrote it, twice, and I still don't like it too much. Let me know if you want it burned, I still kinda do. I own nothing but this VERY alternate timeline, read, review. -Love, Maya**

* * *

Kurt understood and respected that Puck needed to get home and look after his ten-year-old sister, of course, but this is not to say that Kurt went without a fight. Come on. Adam Lambert himself, in all his glittery glory, had come to meet _him_ personally. That's hardly a usual day in Kurt's schedule. In the end, though, Puck had turned on his puppy-dog eyes. Kurt may have been immune to The Smolder, but Gaga save him from those hazel eyes turned sad and shiny on him. With a groan of resigned irritation, he turned to Adam, apologies on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could say anything, Adam chuckled and waved his hand in a shooing motion. "Go," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." Every girl in the room, even Santana, gave a delighted gasp, and Kurt's eyes went comically wide, his skin turning scarlet from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt. If Puck's fingers tightened a little around his wrist, he didn't feel it.

Now they sat quietly in Kurt's baby, Kurt navigating the way to the Puckerman residence without a thought and swearing to himself that he would never wash his cheek, even though that absolutely ruined his skincare routine.

Puck's voice broke the silence. "Why is he here, really?"

Kurt pursed his lips. "Here's a better question. Why aren't you excited? I know you like him; he's a super-talented hot Jew."

"Racist."

"Am not."

"Not the point. I mean, why would he come all this way just to see—and apparently cuddle the fuck out of—you after seeing all of us singing? We're not even that good."

"How would I know?" From the corner of his eye, he could see Puck giving him a frustrated, suspicious look.

"Because I think you do. There's something you're not telling me."

Kurt huffed out an exasperated breath as he looked at Puck. "Well, I don't tell you everything." He was unprepared for the brief flash of hurt in Puck's eyes, and it twisted like a knife in his gut. "Noah—"

"No, it's cool." Puck sat back in his seat, attempting a relaxed posture and fooling no one.

Kurt set his jaw and pulled over, taking the key from the ignition and turning in his seat to stare at Puck (this was becoming a thing, that should bother him). "What is wrong?" he demanded.

There was silence while he waited for Puck to nut up and meet his gaze. Soon, Puck caved and looked up. "I'm supposed to protect you, right? That's my job."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Well, I hardly want to be protected from the only out adult I've ever met besides Rachel's dads." Kurt considered Puck carefully, taking in the harsh set of his jaw and his fists resting on his thighs, the muscles in his arms twitching with tension. "That's not what's wrong, though, it couldn't be."

"They'll leave you alone," Puck said sullenly, "even after he's gone. They won't wanna fuck with someone who's tight with an actual famous person."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Puck looked away at the still, empty road, and Kurt frowned at him. "Is it a bad thing, Noah?"

Puck chewed anxiously at his lower lip for a few seconds before answering unhelpfully, "I don't know, man."

"What don't you know?"

Puck's brow screwed up in frustration, and he continued to glare out at the asphalt, like it was the source of all his problems. Finally, he spoke, if haltingly, "I don't know… what'll happen when—if you don't need me anymore."

Kurt blinked at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Puck whipped around to look at Kurt, something strange in his eyes. "If you don't need me to protect you, will you stick around? What's keeping you?" he demanded.

Kurt stared speculatively back at him, smelling some sort of breakthrough; he was about to know Noah Puckerman much better than he did an hour ago.

With a sigh that was more of a harsh exhale, Puck faced forward, looking blindly at the road ahead. "You wouldn't be the first, you know," he said bitterly. "You know why Quinn slept with me? She felt fat that day, and Finn was too stupid to do anything about it. So she comes to me, and as soon as she remembers how goddamn beautiful she is, she declares me a mistake."

Chewing his lip—wholly unprepared for Puck's distress, the dark resignation in his tone—Kurt turned in his seat, making a show of giving Puck his full and undivided attention with his hands folded neatly and unthreateningly in his lap. It seemed like Puck had a lot to say, had for a long time, and Kurt was not about to stop him.

"Santana may say she left me because of my credit score," he went on, "but that was actually when she figured out what she had with Brittany, even though she was to chickenshit to do anything about it, even admit it to herself. Of course, she still tapped me to fuck her pretty regularly, but she was always one to, at least with me, take half a minute to catch her breath, then put her clothes back on, fix her hair and make up, and stroll away with barely a 'hey, thanks.'" He gradually slumped in his seat, his gaze and voice going flat but no less bitter. "As soon as Rachel figured out that I wasn't making Finn jealous exactly like she wanted, she broke up with me. The last time Finn talked to me one-on-one was to slash some Vocal Adrenaline tires." Puck looked so tired, and as small as Kurt had ever seen him. "Unless I'm useful, nobody sticks around."

Kurt watched him for a few more seconds, fingernails in his palms with some emotion he couldn't quite get a finger on, and then he decided to gamble with his life and push some limits. With a hand he hoped wasn't shaking noticeably, he reached across the center console and took Noah's fist, uncurling his fingers. "Noah." He didn't look up, but he did look at their clasped hands, and Kurt gripped a little tighter, swallowing to wet his throat. "Noah, look at me." After another moment of stillness, Noah lifted his eyes, watching Kurt through his lashes, and Kurt was careful to meet them as steadily as he could manage. "I believe I made it clear," he said slowly, picking his words gingerly, "that you would be around until you proved to me that you didn't deserve to be."

Noah looked away again, snorting, "Yeah, whatever that means."

"Hey." Kurt squeezed his fingers around Noah's, recapturing his gaze, and was inordinately proud of himself for not losing his patience with all this angst in a small, enclosed space. "It means," he said, keeping his tone soft, "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you, not until you want to."

Noah blinked at him; it was weird to see him so defenseless, guard behind his eyes totally dropped, leaving them wide and clear. "What…?"

With a sigh, Kurt loosened his grip slightly, checking to see if Noah would take the opportunity and pull away, but Noah's fingers actually tightened a little around Kurt's, picking up the slack. Kurt smiled a little at that; he couldn't not, even though it was probably only a reflex (and even though his hand was probably gross and sweaty from his general awkwardness over all this). "I don't need you to protect me for us to stay friends and hang out," he said, reassured. "It'll actually be easier for you to trust me with your friendship if you don't think I want something from you; then you know I'm not using you, that I won't use you. And, since I can't think for the life of me what you'd be using me for, I'll trust you with the same. This doesn't have to be some kind of transaction."

Noah looked heavily at him for more seconds than Kurt would allow himself to count, then looked down at their joined hands as if he hadn't noticed them before. Kurt immediately released him, his palms out in front of his chest in surrender. "Sorry!" His nerves were finally showing, and he hated that tone in his voice. "You just looked like you needed—and I just—I'm sorry—" He shut up when fingers wrapped themselves around his, intertwining and more intimate than he'd ever even dreamed of being before college, let alone with Noah Puckerman.

* * *

Puck stared out at the blank road ahead through the windshield, Hummel's slightly-smaller-but-way-softer hand firmly encased in his. It was like a really long handshake, he rationalized to himself. That was why it felt so binding. If Hummel was bound to him, he wouldn't leave him so easily, so readily, like everyone else. This would be a relationship (a very manly, bro-type, man…ness… relationship) that would last; it was safe, or whatever.

He chanced a sideways glance at Hummel. The guy was silent, watching him; he didn't take his hand from Puck's, nor his piercing eyes from Puck's face. His lips were pressed thoughtfully together, but Puck was glad his teeth weren't sunk into his lower one like usual. Puck looked away again, and a few seconds later he felt those soft fingers squeeze his gently. He turned his head to look, and Kurt was still watching him.

"Do you believe me?" he asked quietly (why in the fuck was his voice so even?).

Puck stared back at him and threw on all the bravado he could muster. "We're shaking on it, aren't we?"

Kurt smiled at him then, disengaging their fingers and reaching across Puck's body for his right hand, taking it in his and shaking it firmly; dude had one manly handshake. "So we are," he agreed wryly. With that, he released Puck and started the car, pulling calmly back out onto the road like Puck hadn't just bared his soul, and for that Puck was grateful. They drove in inappropriately easy silence; Puck kept stealing furtive glances at Kurt, but Kurt kept his eyes coolly on the road, his motions smooth and fluid, betraying no nervousness or strangeness.

As they pulled up to the Puckerman house, they were still quiet, and Puck plucked up his courage. "Kurt."

Kurt blinked at him, clearly startled, and Puck cursed himself for using his first name. Kurt let it slide though, because he was cool like that, and simply said, "Yes?"

Puck shook himself internally, then asked, "Are you free right now?"

Kurt nodded slowly, watching Puck like he was some exotic animal trying to sniff him or something.

Puck cleared his throat. "Do you like Super Mario?"

Kurt grinned at him, and Puck felt like it might be okay.


	15. Chapter 15

**So, uh. Hi guys. Long wait. Uhm. Nothing to report here. I don't own stuff, review or don't. Yeah. Love even though I'm tired- Maya**

* * *

As he and Noah got into school the next morning, Kurt had a rare spring in his step. He had kicked Noah's ass at Super Mario yesterday while Sarah Puckerman looked on and alternated between smirking, cackling like a loon, and threatening to tell Mrs. Puckerman that Noah was swearing. That, and, you know, there was an international pop star in town to see him who would be making another appearance today. But, mostly Super Mario. No, really.

Speaking of, Kurt stopped short and grabbed Noah's arm urgently. "Noah, I'm so screwed."

Noah lifted a brow. "By whom? I'm pretty sure none of the gay guys in town like 'em quite so young."

Kurt slapped his arm, but otherwise ignored the comment. "I forgot to tell Blaine that Adam was here."

Noah looked at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

Kurt scowled at him. "It's not funny. Blaine is a fashionable, singing gay boy whose repertoire consists mainly of Top 40's. He'll be livid."

Still chuckling, Noah slung an arm around his shoulders. "Call me if shit gets violent."

"Kurt!"

Shrugging out from under Noah's arm, Kurt turned to see Adam waving from the doorway of Figgins' office. "Hi, Adam," he breathed with what he was sure must have been a starstruck grin. As Adam strode toward them, Kurt could hear whispers of "Is that-?" and "It couldn't be…!" and he would have smirked at it all if he weren't so distracted.

Adam drew him into a brief, tight hug as soon as he was within arm's reach and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Hey, kiddo," he said fondly, and Kurt may or may not have had a fangirl attack in his head. "How're you holding up?"

Kurt blinked up at him for a second, then replied, "Oh, I'm fine. Never better."

Noah cleared his throat and slid his arm around Kurt again, doing that chin-jerk nod thing that Kurt had never pretended to understand.

Adam lifted a brow at him. "Hello, there." He turned back to Kurt. "I could've sworn you were the only out student at school."

Kurt stared blankly up at him until understanding hit him in the face like a coconut cream pie. "Oh, no-no-no-no," he rushed to say, "it is not like that at _all_, no, no—"

"Not like what?" Noah asked, looking back and forth between Adam and Kurt in abject confusion. Kurt looked at him in dismay, but Adam ignored him and continued looking patiently at Kurt.

Kurt hesitated another second before answering, "Noah is one of the straightest people I know; he's not even questioning. He's just—protective of me, because of my situation." Noah looked even more confused now, and was focused solely on Kurt.

Adam quirked an eyebrow again, then gave Noah an all-knowing up-and-down look. "Ah."

Kurt exhaled in relief. "Yes, so you're right, I am the only out kid at this school, in this town actually."

"Got it," Adam said slowly. Kurt didn't think he was entirely convinced, but he let it go; this was not a fun discussion. "Well, I'd better be getting back. Just wanted to say 'hey.' Will and the principal are waiting in the main office to work out some of the specifics of my presentation with me, but I'll explain all that to everyone later. Until then, let me see your phone." Kurt and Puck both blinked at him, but Kurt was quick to surrender the device. Adam tapped a bunch of buttons, then handed it back. "That's my number." Kurt almost dropped the thing, and Adam chuckled. "I already sent myself a text, so go ahead and call me if you need anything, 'kay?" Kurt nodded and fought the urge to clutch his phone to his chest. "Cool, later." And he was gone.

There were a few seconds of Kurt just staring after him, and then Noah said, "Wait. Did he mean—"

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

Puck picked Kurt up for lunch, as they had both become accustomed. During his geometry class/naptime, Puck had done some thinking. While he was, in fact, a closet Adam Lambert fan (guy has talent, okay, shut up), he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the man himself. Especially if Adam was under the impression that Puck and Kurt were dating. That Puckurt was a thing that happened (that name was actually kinda neat… focus, Puckerman!)

Not that they were doing anything like dating, mind you. Puck was a boob-enthusiast, had been since he figured out what boobs were. Kurt rather distinctly did not have boobs. He was sort of pretty, Puck supposed, but that wasn't his point. Bottom line: if Adam thought that Puck and Kurt were together, then Adam was majorly encroaching on Puck's turf. Seriously, who was that touchy-feely with someone else's boyfriend? He had seen Santana reduce people to tears and bulimia over less—never mind that she and Puck hadn't been actually dating since sophomore year—and Nice-Guy Finn had been known to come to blows on suspicion alone. And here Adam was, all over Puck's boyfriend-apparent!

Doesn't the Bro Code apply to homos?

"…ah. Noah. Noah!"

Puck looked up to find himself seated across from Kurt at a table in the cafeteria, the boy himself waving a hand in front of his face. "What, yeah, no, totally."

"You weren't listening." It wasn't a question, nor was it wrong.

"I was so!"

Kurt gave him a pitying look. "You think you can fool me? Isn't that adorable." Puck scowled and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's up?"

"With what?"

"What were you thinking about?" Kurt paused, then laughed a little. "I don't mean to sound like an overbearing girlfriend, but you were completely checked out."

Puck stared at him for a second before blurting, "That Adam guy's a dick."

Kurt lifted a perfect brow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean—" Puck made an exasperated noise at himself and sat forward in his seat, leaning toward Kurt with his elbows braced on the table. "He totally thinks we're dating."

Kurt gave him a measured look. "And that makes him a dick?" he asked coolly, coldly, and Puck was sinking so fast he couldn't even react to the word "dick" coming from Kurt.

"No, no, it's not that," he hurried to insist. "I mean, he was, like, snuggling you when you're supposed to be _my_ boyfriend."

The ice-mask dropped from Kurt's face, leaving nothing but surprise. "Wait, what?"

"Because, if we're together, he shouldn't be all over you like that, especially not right in front of me."

"…What?"

"Kurt, are you listening? He shouldn't be all over someone else's boyfriend!"

Kurt's brow furrowed, his lips pursed, as he stared at Puck. "We're not boyfriends."

"No, but Adam thinks we are, and he was not respecting your bubble."

"Um. I'm confused; you're upset with Adam for being 'all over' your supposed boyfriend?"

"Exactly!" Puck exclaimed, vindicated. "Seriously, that is such a dick move. Guy shouldn't be allowed near enjoyers of cock."

"…Uh-huh…"

"I'm just saying."

Kurt nodded slowly. "So… you're not upset about someone thinking you have a boyfriend?"

Puck shrugged. "Lemme put it this way: liking dick wouldn't shrink mine." Kurt choked on absolutely nothing, his weird eyes going comically wide, and Puck leered triumphantly.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Kurt said, "Well. Thank you for sharing, Noah." Puck chuckled, and Kurt's expression softened a little. "Really, though. It's sad how nice it is to hear a guy say that homosexuality isn't an affront to his personal machismo."

"Sure, whatever. Besides, don't chicks wet their pants over hot guys making out?"

A smirk curled Kurt's lips. "They tend to, yes, same as you popping stiffies over Britt and Satan."

Puck stared, slack-jawed, at Kurt for a few seconds, who gazed placidly back. Finally, he burst into thrilled laughter, and Kurt smirked at the distance. "You're learning, I'm so proud of you!"

Kurt rolled his eyes—fondly, Puck thought. "Like you invented crude humor."

"I did, actually." Kurt rolled his eyes again, and Puck watched him speculatively. "Hey, Kurt, wanna make out?"

Kurt choked again, amusing Puck further. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"C'mon; chicks dig it, right? I could up my pool cleaning rate if you came with me and we put on a show for the cougars. You'd get a cut and everything."

Kurt rolled his eyes some more, and Puck wondered if he had ever seen his own brain. "Cute. Sorry, Noah, but I think I'll decline."

"Aw. You sure? Because we could totally pull a Brittana."

"A Britt-?" Kurt cracked up, and Puck was extremely pleased. "As flawless an idea as that is—"

"Yes."

"—I'll still have to decline. Subject change: Adam's giving a mini-concert tomorrow, two songs before he speaks and one after, with encore possibilities. We're backing him up."

"Fun."

Kurt scowled at him. "This is a great opportunity, you know. Adam's kind of a big deal."

Puck snorted. "He's just another Rachel for us to sway behind."

"Only this one is actually famous outside of their own head." When Puck pressed his lips together skeptically, Kurt went on, "Besides, singing with someone who's en vogue might actually make us cool, if only for a little while."

Puck just scowled petulantly. "I'm already cool enough for everyone."

Kurt patted his hand. "That's adorable."

"Whatever." He let Kurt take his hand away first.


	16. Chapter 16

**So this chapter is short, kind of filler-ish. But I promise some angstiness next chapter! I gotta say, I was a little disappointed with the response to last chapter; only four reviews. But it's cool, I only cried a little, I promise. So I have no rights to anything but this alternate timeline, review, don't do drugs or something. Love-Maya**

* * *

Rachel called an "emergency Glee meeting" after school, with instructions for Kurt to ask Adam to attend "since he forgot to give me his number." Kurt arrived with Noah's arm draped around his shoulders to find Adam cornered by Rachel, nodding and smiling uncomfortably as the girl spoke intensely at him. Adam's eyes lit up with relief at Kurt's approach.

"Rachel," Kurt sighed. "For the last time, he is not here to scout you."

Rachel turned away from Adam to face Kurt with an impatient huff. "It's not about that. It's about our duet."

Kurt lifted a brow. He could feel Puck shaking with silent snickers as he covered his mouth to hide the laughter. "You're singing a duet with Adam?"

Behind her, Adam shook his head rapidly, and Rachel drawled, "Obviously. As the female lead, it's my job to sing one-on-one with any and all guests we might have." She gave Kurt her Crazy Eyes. "This could be a big moment in my career. You wouldn't be trying to stand in the way of that, would-?"

"Actually!" Adam cut in, sounding a little alarmed. He stepped around the short girl to companionably link arms with Kurt. "I was hoping to sing with Kurt, here. He _is_ the reason for all this."

Kurt blinked up at him, glancing (not fearfully) at Rachel. "Uh…"

Adam turned bright, expectant eyes on Kurt, a big smile on his face. "Will you sing with me, Kurt? Please?"

Kurt stared at him some more, only a little slack-jawed, then gave Rachel a flat look. "You can't ask me to say no." Rachel pouted at him on principle, but sighed and gave a relenting wave of her hand before flouncing away to lecture Mr. Schue.

"That went well." Adam gave Kurt a quick grin, then looked at Noah, whose jaw was tense and arm still around Kurt. "Alright if I steal him for a few minutes? I'll give him right back, I promise."

Noah scowled, but Kurt rolled his eyes and made the call for him by shrugging out from under his arm. Wrapping his fingers lightly around Noah's wrist (he'd found that Noah liked his touch, even if neither of them ever acknowledged it aloud), he told him, "Be right back." Noah relaxed a little at that, if almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for Kurt so he let Adam lead him away.

"So," Adam said briskly once they were out of earshot, "your bodyguard is nice. Possessive, but nice, I think."

Kurt chuckled. "He actually is my bodyguard, self-proclaimed. You know about my whole—" he glanced around before lowering his voice surreptitiously "—bullying situation. Noah found out and decided to step in, is all." He frowned. "And he's not possessive, he's… protective. What would he have to be possessive over, anyway? It's not like we're dating; he's totally straight."

"Hmm." Adam's eyes slid to Noah, who was attempting to listen to Quinn. "Does he know that?"

"What, that he's straight or that we aren't dating?"

"Both."

"I don't think either is even a question."

"Hmm." Adam watched the mohawked kid for another second, then turned to Kurt. "Well, I wanted to ask you about something else. Your song yesterday." He ignored the visible stiffening of Kurt's shoulders. "it was for the kid you talked about in your video, right?"

"Yes," Kurt answered quietly, not quite looking at Adam.

A soft smile crossed the man's face. "That's sweet of you, Kurt. Does he know you're there to talk."

Kurt's eyes fell to the floor. "Well, I didn't sing it to him—he wasn't in the room—nor did I explicitly say to him at any time 'I'm here for you,' I mean, how could I? but the offer is there, if not plain. I think he just doesn't think he's _allowed_ to…come to terms with it. He thinks he has to make it go away somehow."

Adam reached out and gripped his shoulder encouragingly, though his eyes were downcast as well. "He'll come around."

"You don't know that."

"I don't." Kurt looked up to see Adam watching him with a sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy.

With a clearing of his throat, Kurt squared his shoulders and took control, asking, "So what did you want to sing?"


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter was pretty hard for me to get through, but I tried, despite not feeling the love. I don't own Glee, any of it's characters, the artist/public figure known as Adam Lambert or the dude of the same name. And on a somber note, rest in peace Cory Monteith. You are in our thoughts.**

* * *

Let it be known: Adam Lambert was a freaking liar. He said he would give Kurt right back, but Puck couldn't get within spitting distance of Kurt until after practice. The only upside was, when Kurt finally returned to Puck's side, the stars in his eyes were a little less bright. Or was it an upside? Puck didn't even know anymore.

However, no matter what Kurt thought of Adam personally, his willingness to hang out with Puck remained undiminished; they were sitting on the floor of Kurt's basement room now, leaning their backs against the couch and playing Mario Kart (and Puck was not getting his ass kicked, honest). Kurt wasn't even gushing about Adam's infinite fabulousness just now, although he had called that Blake dude about an hour ago to tell/brag to him about the man himself surfacing at McKinley, and that had led to some gushing, as well as some impressively high-pitched noises issuing form the other end of the line. Now, Kurt was focused entirely on Puck and the screen in front of them, Adam miles away from his thoughts. Being a dumbass, though, Puck had to open his mouth.

"So, Kurt," he began, "what were you and Adam talking about, all secret-like, in Glee?"

"…Nothing. Don't try to distract me while I'm kicking your ass."

"I love it when you get all forceful with me."

"Shut up." Kurt made Yoshi slam Bowser's kart into the wall.

When he was done laughing and cursing, Puck said, "But seriously. How come you were all shifty?"

"We were discussing my experiences with homophobia." Kurt's eyes remained on the screen, and his thumbs didn't stop moving over the buttons, but his back and shoulders had gone tense, his fingers tight on the controller. "It's something we relate easily over."

Puck frowned at Kurt's blank profile. He didn't know what to say to that, having never been a victim of homophobia, and he was a little shocked at himself for envying Adam that experience, envying him that connection with Kurt. "I see," was all he could say aloud as he tamped down on those weird-ass emotions.

Kurt's body relaxed a little, and he sighed and gave him a sad smile that totally didn't break Puck's heart. "It's fine that you don't see," he said quietly. "I'm glad none of you have gone through what I have."

"Shit, Hummel, quit reading my mind."

Kurt chuckled. "I'm not, I'm reading you."

A not-unpleasant shiver flashed down Puck's spine, but he ignored it, remaining on-task instead. "Did that song have anything to do with it?"

Kurt went rigid again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and, subsequently, putting some distance between himself and Puck. "Whatever would give you that idea?" His voice was pitched a little oddly, like his throat was dry (it probably would have cracked, but this was Kurt). Puck wanted to reach out and pull him back.

Instead he said, as quietly as he could without mumbling, "It was a hunch, from all the feels you were giving off when you sang, but the way you just reacted made it a bit more clear."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Don't lie to me, Kurt. Please." Kurt was quiet, and Puck continued on a sigh, "I can read you, too."

Kurt gave a huff of breath, harsh and defensive, setting down his controller and turning toward Puck with hard eyes, past which Puck could now see so much vulnerability. "What do you want me to say?" he demanded.

Like Puck knew; he dropped his controller into his lap and twisted a little to give Kurt his full attention. "Anything true. Just… tell me when something's wrong, why you do stuff. You looked so sad, and I have no clue why."

Kurt fixed him with that soul-searching stare for a moment, then all the fight seemed to rush out of him, like air if he'd been punched in the gut, his body relaxing grudgingly as he leaned back against the couch, his head bowed and eyes on the ground. After a few moments of silence (during which Puck was not watching Kurt chew on his lips), Kurt finally began softly, "I'm going to tell you something, Noah." His eyes rose to meet Puck's, more piercing than they'd ever been, and Puck went totally still. "What I'm about to tell you, you can't tell anyone, ever." His tone was so grave that Puck almost hesitated, but he just clenched his fists and nodded, not trusting his voice. At this, Kurt closed his eyes and took a breath. " There is someone at this school," he said haltingly, "who is in the closet."

"Who, Santana? Everybody knows about that."

Kurt shook his head, opening his eyes but looking intently at the floor. "No, a boy. He's who my song was for, and Adam could tell. Actually, all the songs you've heard me singing lately were for that boy."

Puck nodded slowly. "Who?"

Kurt shook his head again. "No, I can't tell you; it wouldn't be fair. Honestly, I'm toeing the line telling you this much."

"No, no." Puck reached out and grabbed Kurt's hand, making Kurt look at him uncertainly. "I'm glad you're telling me what's wrong, I don't care about the who-where-when." Kurt started chewing at his lip again, his eyes sliding away, and Puck cradled his hand in both of his own, playing with Kurt's long pianist's fingers to keep him present; for whatever reason, Kurt liked his touch, and for unexamined reasons, Puck liked that he liked his touch. "How'd he tell you?"

A short, sadly mocking excuse for a laugh escaped Kurt's lips. "He didn't, not really."

"So, what, gaydar?"

Kurt laughed again, darkly, and looked deliberately into Puck's eyes. "He kissed me."


End file.
